


We Go Forward

by jairose



Series: Doggie Dean [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU but at the moment very minorly, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Bro bonding, Brotp, Creature Fic, Dean bit by a dog, Deans a dog, Familiar Dean, Hes got the powers to be a witch, I mean, Kind of almost witch sam, Psychic Bond, Sam & Dean being bros, Season 1, also, because the winchesters deserve some nice things, bond, but he isn't, technically, that kind of changes things, witch!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:24:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jairose/pseuds/jairose
Summary: Dean gets bitten by a dog and then gets sick as a dog for three days, where he then becomes... well. A dog. Who'woulda'guessed?





	1. Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. It just kind of.... well, happened. I was inspired by the familiar episode and then couldn't get a few stories of familiar!Dean out of my head. Seriously, just search by the tag familiar Dean and you'll find some amazing works!!  
> It started as like a small blurb and turned into a monster. Like. I think this is 35K.

“Gah, a little softer would’ja, Sammy?” Dean hissed as Sam pushed on the wound as he wrapped it. “Geeze.”

“I can’t believe you were actually bit. By a  _ dog _ .” Sam couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I mean, what kind of luck is that?”

“Luck Sammy?” Dean shook his head with a wince. “When does luck have anything to do with it?”

Sam raised his eyes, but it still stunk of amusement. Dean glared. It was halfhearted at best. When had Sam been this amused? When in the past month or so had Sam been anything  but mister grumpy-gills?

Dean didn’t know, but the fact that it took him getting bit for Sam to  **laugh** like he’d heard the funniest joke pissed him off. More than just a little.

“And  _ you _ said there was no reason to dislike them.” Dean said petulantly.

“Dogs Dean?”

“Yeah, Dogs, dammit.”

Sam stopped, dropping his hand. Shaking his head he scoffed.

“Only you would get bit by a dog and  _ blame _ it on me.” Still his voice was amused. Until it turned a touch concern. “This is pretty deep, Dean. Did you bait it or something?”

“Me?” Dean asked as he leaned back and grabbed a beer with his good hand. “Why would I bait a dog? I wouldn’t want one  _ near  _ me let alone bait the damn thing.”

Dean winced as Sam tugged a little harder on a deep part. He looked contrite.

“Sorry.”

“Stitches?” Dean asked, pulling a face as he watched Sam dab.

“No,” Sam looked at him only briefly before he was laser focused on the wound. “We’ll just have to let it heal on it’s own. Some of the bite mark is deep, but it shouldn’t need any stitches.”

“Perfect.” Dean said as he flopped back further. 

Just. perfect. A  _ perfect _ end to a  _ perfect _ day to the end of a  **perfect** week.

It started with the vampires tearing Daniel Elkins apart. It was a case and they knew they had to check it out. Somewhere in the middle was when Sam and Dean were greeted by their  _ father. _ Apparently Elkins had been a mentor to him and before he had died... left a note behind for him. John had taken one look and spat curse after curse. He’d explained the Colt, about how it could kill anything, and that he was  _ so close _ , damnit, so close. It ended with John leaving them to hunt down the vamps, leaving town before either of his boys could get ahold of him. No matter how much they hissed and bitched and called.

Well, he did leave a note, as well. But what good was: ‘Stay safe. Stay together. Don’t trust anyone.’ ?

No good, that’s what. So they hunted.

The hunt had been easy. A salt and burn. Easiest they’d had in a long, long time. No ghosts. No witches. No fucking demons. Nothing spooky just a ghost that wanted to stay with her family for a little while longer. She didn’t seem to understand that killing every date her husband had years after she’d died wouldn’t go over so well for  _ anyone  _ involved. Especially her. The item in question had been a candle from their wedding day and had taken surprisingly little to burn it down to nothing.

It was afterwards when Dean was standing alone in an alley, Sam bringing the car around, that the German Shepherd appeared. 

Dean didn’t necessarily like dogs, he respected them, sure, but that was beside the point - even he could see the dog was beautiful. Bright blue eyes, a touch on the darker side of the breeds usual coloring, and wagging its tail friendly enough. It had no collar.

“Aye boy,” Dean warned with his hands out as the dog lumbered toward. It was to hold off not to welcome further. “Whoa, whoa. Let’s not be getting any closer, alright?”

Ears perked the dog slowed until he stood a few feet away. As if it understood.

In hindsight, that was the first clue.

“Uh.” Dean mumbled to himself looking around. “Shoo. Go on.”

The dog barked at him, wagged its tail even harder as it stood to its paws. Another bark. Dean backed up a little. “Hey now. Let’s not get crazy.”

Only that didn’t stop the dog. It walked closer, tail still wagging excitedly like a child.

When it lashed out, Dean almost didn’t understand. Nothing about the dog had been even slightly threatening. In fact the dog had been playful without the quick movements, slow to a fault, and slow to come at him. It was quick, almost professionally done. One bite, deep, a single shake and then the dog was _absolutely_ **gone**. Dean left bleeding from his right hand, staring at nothing. Not even really moving except to throw himself against the alley wall.

All he could say was “Son of a bitch,” but the dog was gone.

* * *

“You think it’s infected?” Sam asked, worried. Dean had yet to really move from the couch for the last day, since the attack.

“Who knows?” Dean said, his words slurred. “It was  _ just _ a dog.” 

Right? It was just a dog... A mangy, stupid, dog. 

God. 

Right?

What if this was how he went? Battling demons, facing up against his father, going after werewolves, pagan gods, and he would be  _ undone _ by a dog.

“Stupid dog.” Dean growled, a weak pathetic thing. “I hate dogs, Sammy.”

“I know, Dean.” Sam told him, patting him on his shoulder.

There was no more amusement in his voice.

Dean coughed violently. The first of many. It made Sammy stare at him like he was bitten by something radioactive, two parts worry and one part real-horrible-bone-deep  _ worry _ . The kind that had them both doing stupid things for each other.

“Seriously,  _ seriously _ hate dogs.”

Another violent cough that led to a fit and Sam was standing up straighter.

“I’m calling Bobby.”

* * *

Day two wasn’t much better than the first.

Bobby was talking on the other end of the line and Sam was listening intently. Dean stared at the ceiling. After Sam had explained the situation Bobby had gone off to look for what he could. He said he had never heard of anything like what Dean had explained. It didn’t explain werewolf, or skinwalker, or hell, a lot of other things that went nibble in the night.

And it was a dog to boot. A plain old German Shepherd.

Bobby had never heard of that.

Never.

Then again, he’d never had to ask.

“So you’ve got nothing?” Sam said, which was followed by Dean coughing. The fits were getting shorter now, since they’d gotten longer during the night. His fever had not broken yet, but they weren’t exactly hopeful. This was something they’d never seen before.

“What if it’s rabies?” Dean wondered aloud.

Sam spun to him, phone still held to his face.

“Uh, one of the first things we considered, bro,” Sam called over to him, before telling Bobby what Dean had asked. 

Well. Dead end after dead end. 

With a sigh, Dean settled into the couch. 

He was going to die. And it was because of a dog. Great.

He  **had** been right. The world hated him.

When Sam hung up with Bobby, rubbing at his eyes, Dean watched as Sam paused. Rubbed his face, stared at his phone in deep contemplation. Then, he clicked through his phone. Came upon a contact. Took another second, a deeper breath, and pressed another key.

Putting the phone to his ear, Dean watched Sam wait out the beeps, the click, the signaling of a voicemail.

And he watched him speak.

“Dad. Dean’s been bit. We don’t know by what. He’s in a bad way. We... We could really use your help on this one, Dad. I know you said it was dangerous for us to be together, to be found anywhere in the same vicinity... but we need you, Dad.”

And then Sam looked over at him, met his eyes and said: 

“Dean needs you.”

Dean felt his heart contract. He both wanted to hug the life out of Sam and punch his father in the nose.

He couldn’t even muster up the usual, “No chick-flick moments, Sam,” because right now, he could use a chick-flick moment. Especially a happy-ever-after.

* * *

Day three was the worst. Coughing fits lasting longer and longer. The fever raging hot and thick inside Dean's mind. Blankets on and off multiple times an hour. Burning one second, colder than an ice pack the next. Sam tried his hardest to keep up with the mood swings, got him water when he was parched, soup when he was cold and hungry. And when Dean would fall asleep for a few hours at time, Sam researched,

And then, like that, it was over.

Day four came and with it - the end. Or the beginning... depending on how anyone was looking at the situation.

* * *

Dean awoke bright and early, his sense of time skewed to hell and back, but he awoke without a cough, or a sneeze, and he felt better. Better than he had for a long long time. With a deep languish breath of air in his lungs, Dean bolted upwards.

It was like breathing for the first time. The air...  _ tasted _ . Dean had long ago blocked out the smell of motel, but now it hit him in the face. Sweat, dust, sex, mold, and under that hidden like paint four layers under the wallpaper, blood and smoke. Like someone had cleaned it up but there was no hiding it. Blood was blood. Smoke was smoke.

Dean breathed in again, and more came with it. 

He almost choked.

As if an after smell, or something, Dean was smacked in the face by Sam. Not literally. No. By his smell. Leather jacket, hair gel, soap and shampoo - clean Sam. Books, too. That underlayer, like the smoke and blood. 

Dean’s chest tightened. 

_ What the hell? What the hell bit me? _

This was not rabies this was.... This is something else.

“Crap.” He said, twisting over the couch into a sitting position. “Sam?”

Dean heard Sam. The shower going. The sound of soft humming. Water running down the walls, ricocheting off something, pitter-patter. 

And then came the sensation of touch. 

Dean jumped nearly out of his boxers.

As if sound and smell wasn’t enough, touch was like fire exploding from his fingertips. And really, all over. The blanket had felt heavy, scratchy, suffocating. His boxers felt like they were cutting off the circulation into his entire lower half. The shirt like it was pressing on his  _ lungs _ .

He jump up and pressed himself against the wall - cold, hard, like sand against his palm - panting. Each breath was a new kind of extreme. Different smells against his tongue and nose. Like a mix of everything but each part of the room smelled differently. Closer to the wall he got a draft from the vent, so the sex, sweat smell was limited, like everything else. And the smells of flowers, grass, and bark was like a tickle against his nose. Less bitter and more soft.

_ What the  _ **_hell_ ** _ is happening to me? _

Sam found him as he came out of the shower sitting on the floor, curled into a ball so he was touching as little as he could. “Dean?”

His brother flinched at his voice. 

“Dean! You’re up!”

“Quieter would’ya?” Dean’s voice was a whisper but gravely like always.

Confused because he  _ had _ been quiet, Sam cocked his head. 

“Dean, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Ugh.” Dean growled, getting up to go to the far wall, away from Sam. “Still too loud.”

Sam shook his head, trying to think on what that could mean. He was severely sleep deprived and it was starting to show itself in his slow thinking, his confusion and befuddlement.

_ Too loud? Was the sickness affecting his sensitivity to sound now?  _

_ That could definitely be a clue! _

Sam took a step forward, Dean waved his arm in front of him in a stay-away kind of gesture. Worried, but always willing to listen for at least a few seconds, Sam took a few steps back.

“Dean, what is going on? Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” Dean asked, face scrunched up. “No, God, Sammy. I’m not hurt, I just... I - “

Dean paused. To Sam that pause lasted a century.

Sam couldn’t handle it. “Well. How’s the fever? I see the cough has gone... Why are you on the ground? Are you -”

“God, what’s with the twenty questions?” Dean groaned, hands over his ears but still feeling the words bounce in his eardrums. ”I feel fine. I’m fine, Sam.”

It was Sam’s turn to pause.

“You feel  **fine** ?” Sam asked, incredulous. “Dean, you haven’t been able to get up on your own in  **_days_ ** .”

Dean covered his ears as if Sam had shouted at him. “Yeah, Geeze, I get it Sam. Been down for the count. No need to yell.”

“Dean, I’m  **not** yelling.” 

“It sure sounds like it.” Dean growled.

Sam felt concerned now.

“Dean, I’m  **not** yelling. That bite must have done something to you.“

“Done something to me?” Dean stared at Sam. “Of course it did something to me!”

Dean cut Sam off with a chuckle before he could say anything. 

“I know.” 

“You... you know?” Sam asked, passing a hand through his hair. “What did it do? What is happening to you? Is this... ”

Sam cautiously walked forward, before crouching towards Dean.

“Dean?”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.” Dean paused, leaned more heavily against the well. “Sam... I can hear  _ everything _ , smell it all, too. I thought I had gotten used to the smell of motel but this... this is too much.” 

Dean tried holding his breath. It didn’t help. It lingered. 

“And touch... well,” He shook his head. How to explain being like this? “It's like I’m being constricted. And this room smells like sex. And - “ He threw his hands up before rubbing his face roughly. “I can hear the light over on the other street  _ flickering _ . The couple next door trying to have quiet sex, but it's like they are screaming in my ear. WOULD YOU SHUT UP!” 

Dean yelled the last bit while hitting the wall. The couple only stopped for a second, confused, before continuing. 

_ Ugh. It wasn’t even the good kind of sounds. It was boring and awful.  _

Sam yanked his head back and shook it, like a confused moose.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s like everything has been turned to the max. Radio set to a hundred,” Dean said with a sigh,

He pulled himself up short. “Uh, is there a reason you’re wearing just a towel?”

Sam looked down to his crossed arms, to the white towel tied around his hips. A blush reddened his cheeks. 

It was too damn early for this shit.

“We’re talking about this,” He said as he grabbed clothes and started to get dressed. “We are  _ sooo _ talking about this.”

* * *

The next time Sam came out of the bathroom Dean had managed to get pants on. It felt even more constricting and heavy than just boxers, like someone had wrapped his legs in plastic and tape. Uncomfortable was just the tip of the iceberg.

“So, let me get this straight. No more fever, or cough. Just like that?”

Dean nodded, wiggling in his seat to try and find a comfortable spot. He failed.

“And now you can hear, smell, and feel just about everything? Like super senses?”

“Sums it up nicely, Sam,” Dean said with a sigh.

“I’ve definitely never heard of anything like this.” Sam flopped onto the bed and watched Dean wince. “The only thing that comes close would be a werewolf, but you said it was a dog, not a werewolf.”

Dean side-eyed him. “Yeah and I know what a damn Werewolf looks like.”

“And I believe you, Dean, I do. It’s just... none of this makes sense.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dean knew he shouldn’t feel delighted that Sam’s attention was so fully focused on him, but he was. When was the last time they’d talked about anything other than a case or ... Jessica and Mom? And when would this ever happen again?

Now, if only Sam’s attention didn’t come with this new condition Dean sported.

“I know, Sam, I know.” Dean said. 

Except, Dean didn’t know anything. Nothing at all.

* * *

Burgers were a favorite of Deans. The fattier, juicier, the better. Cheese, onions, the works. Before, eating a burger was delightful and itched a scratch that Dean needed itching.

Eating a Burger now was like a revelation. He ordered it like usual and just about spat it back out. Not because it was disgusting, but because it was like nothing he’d ever eaten before. And he’d eaten a lot of weird shit. The meat sizzled against his tongue in a pleasant way, the add ons tasted like nothing, but the meat.

The meat.

“Do you two need a moment?” Sam asked and for a second Dean doesn’t even hear him.

It’s just him and the burger.

“Huh?” He finally says. Sam still looking at him in half-amusement, half- **not.** “I just. It tastes...”

Dean now understands he doesn’t have a word for what he is experiencing. Its delight, its intrigue, its curiosity. It’s a bundle of things, but it’s nothing Dean has ever experienced before, at least not like how he’s experiencing it now.

Sam looked at him, worried, his own burger half forgotten as he sat on his laptop. Yet his eyes were now on Dean, not on the article he was reading. Not on tracking dad. Not on tracking the demon. No. On Dean. On Dean and how his brother stared at his burger like it’d grown another head or started talking. 

If Dean heard his heartbeat differently, he didn’t say anything.

“Dean,”

His brother is silent for a minute, not breaking eye contact with his burger. He took a swig of beer and almost wanted to burn his tongue off. Meat is one thing. It seems barley, water, and fermentation - is another thing entirely. He sets his beer down hard on the table and glared at it, not taking his eyes off it. When he does, it's to look at Sam with wide eyes, a touch fearful, like when he’d been forced to ride that plane. 

Sam’s stomach dropped.

“What is happening?”

“I don’t know, Sammy,”

* * *

After that, it’s the women that are the problem, and that damn near break Dean’s heart.

It’s not that he doesn’t find them attractive, drop dead gorgeous, mouth watering, or D, all of the above; its that he finds them attractive and he also smells everything about them. It’s no longer just his eyes that see people. It’s his nose. And his ears.

Every women that glances at him with anything short of a skipped heartbeat catches his attention. He can smell their arousal. He can hear catching breath and steps slowing. He watches the subtle shift in their faces as their mouths drop, their noses sniff, and their eyes cloud.

Its overwhelming and he can’t look at them without seeing every micro expression and every thought cross their face.

The part that breaks his heart is that it is often the disgust that he can’t handle anymore. Before it was playful, but there is something about how anger, and disgust, and lust all play about into a cocktail he can’t stand. 

Oh. That and that it’s not just  _ human _ females he finds himself sniffing. 

Its when he first sniffs the back of a dog as it passed that he realizes there is a problem. It’s not like he’s right up next to its butt or anything - but the simple fact that some part of him did  _ sniff _ made him not just pause, but damn near toss his cookies right there.

“Dean?” Sam had asked, all innocently. 

Which just made Dean actually run to the nearest bush and throw up his taco.

* * *

Dean doesn’t talk about the incident afterwards. He stays well away from beer. Eats more meat than he can stomach sometimes, but doesn’t take another look at beer. He doesn’t chase any tail, none of it, and he’s basically celibate. Like Sam. Which, well, maybe that changes him. Maybe something fundamentally  _ Dean _ dies, but they don’t talk about it.

Maybe this is the point of no return. Dean hadn’t realized he’d thought there was one, but it seemed he was wrong.

What was Dean if he wasn’t crude and loud and self assured? What was Dean if he didn’t sweat arrogance? What was Dean if he didn’t smile at servers, waitress, and bar keepers alike? What was dean if he wasn’t... human?

They may not talk about it, but Dean thinks about it. Thinks about all too much.

And Dean realizes that  **Dean** doesn’t know  _ Dean _ .

* * *

 

They go back to Bobby’s to research.

The place smelled like metal, oil, and dirt. Somehow cleaner than anything Dean had smelled yet. Perhaps it was because of the forest surrounding the place, but the air seemed to give the entire place a clean and open feeling. And Dean had never been one to shirk closed spaces, but now he couldn’t even drive Baby without the windows down. 

Bobby had given him the works as soon as he’d stepped into the entrance devil's trap. Holy water, silver, gold even.

“Ain’t never seen anything like it.” Bobby sighed as soon as they were done and got to work.

It took a good week to turn over every stone they had in the books Bobby kept. Bobby himself reached out to everyone he could think of.

In the end, their big break came with Dean doing his next ‘weird’ thing. 

And it was a doozy.


	2. Transform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are back at Bobby's trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with Dean. And they find out. Oh. Do they ever.

Sam and Dean were out on the porch, it was approaching the end of the day, and Dean felt something under his skin that made him... _itch_ . He didn’t tell Sam or Bobby, but the itch had been growing since they had come to Bobby’s. And he was also worrying that the itch **was** actually aligned with being a werewolf.

Was it coincidence that the full moon was coming up in only a night's time? Was it coincidence that his skin felt too tight, like he was bursting at the seams?

This was getting too much, like he was trying to hide being a monster. And his father had taught him better than that.

Dean wasn’t a selfish person, he didn’t think. He took enough to survive, took the small pleasures in life like alcohol, women, and food - but he didn’t take things he didn’t need on some level. It just wasn’t him. So the lying, in defense of himself, purely, soley himself... was new.

Even so, even as selfish as that was, Dean would stop it the moment he was sure he was dangerous.

But it was hard. Staring out at the moon, watching it rise as the sun set, Dean accepted this as his last day. It didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn his own life, his lost potential. It didn’t mean jack shit. It meant he drank his beer-light (the only kind he could actually stand since it just tasted like flavored water), spent a few more hours with Sam, and then did what he needed to do afterwards.

“You’ve been quiet.” Sam said leaning against the balcony.

“Yeah,” Dean said, noncommittally.

“Listen, Dean, we’ll figure this out.” Sam said, his hand coming out to land on his back.

 _Figure this out? They could barely figure out what the hell his_ **_symptoms_ ** _were._

“Yeah? Figure this out like we’ve figured everything else out?”

Dean scoffed, looked at that puppy-dog face of his brother, and felt something burst at the edge of his skin. Like the itch evolving. It was a sucker punch but full body. The half-full beer in his hands fell from his fingers and shattered at his feet as he felt his body turn from itching to burning. Doubling over, Dean wheezed.

“Dean?” Sam demanded as he flew forward. His hands were like exploding suns, and if the burning of his skin was any kind of indication, it was worse than the itch.

Pushing his brother away, Dean gasped.

_What the hell was happening?_

Like any good hunter Sam had his gun out and pointed at Dean, precautionary, but it was still a threat. And Dean exploded.

Literally. It felt like he exploded at the very least. His clothes didn’t fly off, nor did his skin, but it was as if everything expanded and then shrunk. His senses were still just as sharp as they had been for the past week, if not slightly tweaked. He found himself on all fours, crouched down.

Sam just stared at him, dumbfounded. His hands holding the gun unsteadily, falteringly.

“Holy shit.” He breathed.

The itching was gone, but Dean was surprised to find that he wished desperately for it to come back, because at least that was a human reaction. Anything human would have been welcome right now, because Dean wasn’t a human. He was a dog. A dog standing on four legs, unsteady, in a pool of his own clothes.

A dog.

If he had to guess, probably a sheppard.

Four legs, four paws, a tail - he could feel it twitched as he stood stock still - a snout, and all other kind of doggie bits. His tongue fit just right in his elongated mouth, but his fangs felt like they got all tangled up. His tail twitched and he couldn’t control it, it was like it telegraphed his mood - cautious, careful, terrified.

 _Holy shit was right,_ Dean thought to himself before thoughts and feelings he’d not felt before took over and he turned tail -

And ran.

No longer did he think of his father. Or the demon who had killed his mother. Who had killed Jess. No longer did he think of Sam, of protecting him. No longer did he dwell on killing the demon, saving his family, or finding out what the _hell_ was even happening to their family in the first place. No longer was it about the cumulation of all things, but rather everything that was at hand.

He left all those human worries behind. Left them behind in favor of dog worries.

Like how far he could run before they caught him and killed him, because being bit was one thing, being sick was another - transforming was an entirely new world of _wrong_.

* * *

Getting the hang of walking on four legs was a lot easier than Dean thought it was going to be. It wasn’t like learning to walk: Crawl, flop, wobble. This was different. It was like _knowing_ and then **doing**. On his feet - paws - and he was off. Uncoordinated for only a second. He wasn't a child, and even though these muscles and these legs were unfamiliar territory - Dean knew how to traverse them like he knew how to hustle rich-boys.

The smells as a dog were powerful. As if everything was made up of smells. He could practically **_see_ ** them, which was good, because his eyesight as a dog was slightly worse than as a human. Not to say that wasn't still good, but it was more human with some color excluded. The smells though... ugh. The smells. Trails of dead animals that were dragged through the yard, alive animals that chased other animals, dogs, critters, the smell of garbage, rotting leather and upholstery. Metal splattered every which way that gave the air a kind of choked smoggy taste. And human. Bobby. Sam. Both their own flavor and he could follow each around the yard for _days_.

Oh. And **that** taste. Dean knew if he were human he would want to throw up, but it seemed that a dog could handle licking dead animals, rust, and ass all day long.

 _Hide hide hide_ his brain chanted to him.

It was just his luck the junkyard was like a maze.

“DEAN!”

Dean could hear Sam calling to him, but Sam wouldn’t get close unless Dean allowed it. His nose was too good, his hearing impecable. He could hear the other dogs yards away from himself and stayed clear. The last thing he needed was a fight.

Even though he was sure he would win.

“Dean!” Sam called again.

Dean ignored him, settling in front of a shiney hub.

He was a dog but he wasn’t long haired like a shepherd, or dark like the dog that had bit him was. He was a light brown, with pointed ears, and a medium stocky build. For some reason, Dean thought he looked like he’d come from Australia. Kind of like those sheep dogs. In all truth, Dean didn’t have a single clue what kind of dog he was. Which was baffling.

 _He was bit by a German Shepard, so why wasn’t he a_ **_shepherd_ ** _?_

It stood to reason that if you are bit by something, and turned by something, then that _something_ you shall **be**.

Yet, here Dean stood. Different.

Yet. In control. He didn’t feel murderous, or dangerous. He felt small, weak like a dog, but also aware of himself. He’d never been so aware. His skin rippled with the wind in his fur. His ears perked and he bent them back. Bared his fangs. It was like a puppy trying to look angry. Dean had seen it in just about every puppy he'd had the misfortune to handle.

_What the hell?_

“DEAN!”

Sam was closer, Dean knew it, but he was also coming from the east. Dean had at least three exits to the south, four to the North, and two hiding spots in this area alone. He was small enough that Sam wouldn’t get his arms around him if he didn’t want him to.

_Did he want him to?_

There were so many things to think about.

_Was he a monster? Was he dangerous?_

If he’d been bit by a werewolf or a vampire, this would all be easy. He would eat a bullet and die. It would be sad. It would tear his family into bits and pieces and fling them into the wind - but what else was new? Now... now who knew anything? If he wasn’t dangerous, then what was he? If he could control himself, what were his options? Was this permanent? Could it be reversed?

_Did he want Sam to find him and help him figure it out?_

Dean realized, no, not until he figured out _what_ he was. Not until he learned more. Not until he figured out how dangerous he was, or if he was just the regular run of the mill dog. If this was permanent. He was ready to run forever, if need be. Take off and go. Lose humanity and shed it like a bad skin. Being a dog couldn’t be that awful...

“Dammit, Dean,” Bobby’s voice came over the cars, much, much closer than Sam’s voice, and in the opposite direction. “Dean, ya idjit! We know what you are!”

_... Wait. What?_

* * *

He hid under a car as Sam and Bobby met in the middle of the clearing.

 _It could be a trap,_ was what Dean thought.

_It could be a trick._

But they said they knew what he was.

Then again, if they knew, they would kill him. Cause that’s what Dean would do.

He would stick around to hear either way. He owed it to them.

... Only it was different when it was your own life. Dean understood even more why the monsters, awful and horrible as they had been, had fought tooth and nail to survive. There was beauty in existence. And that beauty would be extinguished if the life was. Wouldn’t it? There was beauty in beer, in burgers, in his family (small as it was, broken as it was).

But he’d dwell on that later. Hed dwell on all those monster’s he’d killed later. Much, much later.

“Did you find him?” Sam asked, out of breath as if he’d been sprinting. He pulled up like a giant lumbering animal, stopping almost skidding.

“No, but he said he had super hearing or somethin’ didn’t he?”

“Yeah? So?”

“So. He can hear us, right?”

Dean laid his head on his paws, feeling utterly thankful that Bobby was smart enough to figure that out, to listen.

“We’re right about in the middle of the yard,” Bobby said, as he pocketed his gun. “Dean can hear us probably any which way. If he’s still here.”

“He’s still here,” Sam said, sure of himself, running his hands through his hair. “Well, Dean, if you’re listening, you aren’t a werewolf, or a skinwalker, or anything really dangerous - “

 _Bull_ . Dean wanted to snarl, he changed into a _dog_ , but it caught in his throat as Bobby interrupted to quickly deliver the information.

“Get to the point Sam.”

“You’re a familiar, Dean.”

He couldn’t help it, he barked a laugh.

_Familiar? Like... Witches?_

_... So he wasn’t_ **_the_ ** _dangerous thing, he was a_ **_pet_ ** _to the dangerous thing. Great.... Just... Fuck._

Sam and Bobby both twirled around to the car he was under.

“Dean?” Sam asked as he crouched. He practically had his chest to the ground before he could see Dean’s sad state. All curled up with his head on his paws. “Oh. Dean.”

It was the first time Sam got a real good look at him.

“Dean, gettoutta there.” Bobby commanded.

Something within him snarled and growled. As if offended by the very thought of someone giving him a command. Or, at least that someone being Bobby. It came like an intrusive thought, but it stayed as he bared his fangs in Bobby’s direction.

_Who was he to try and command him?_

Dean's more human thoughts came back and his ears perked in inquiry of himself as he questioned _... Why did that even matter?_

“Dean, come on out, and stop with the snarling. It’s just Bobby and me, we won’t hurt you.”

The anger dissipated some, and Dean felt a cool kind of state pervade his bones. Like he was under control, except he wasn’t. He wanted to come out from under the car now. He wanted to stop snarling. He _wanted_ to stop.

He **wanted** Sam to use those big hands of his to scratch his **ears**.

It was the last point that made him shuffle out of his hidey-hole and carefully, watchfully, tip-toe forward. His head was down low, he walked almost sideways, and he kept himself small. It was instinct. It was raw and it was so, so easy to fall into. Instinctive in a way that a gun in his hands felt, or the smell of ghosts, or the raw feeling of fear. Sam was huge to him as a human, and crouched as he was, he was a monster to dog-dean.

When he got close enough, something within him, a gut reactions, a gut feeling, spoke to him. It said trust. And good. E _ase_. Dean didn’t know of what, but he found everything was confusing. Was this another piece of him now? These... strange feelings? These... dare he think them instincts?

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, holding his hand out like he was some stray. “It’s going to be okay.”

Bobby rolled his eyes audibly. Dean snorted in the only way he can, which made a sneezing sound.

“Yeah...” Sam dropped his head sheepishly. “Little bit of a stretch, huh?”

Dean nodded, ears flopping as he did.

“Well, at least we know you’re basically harmless, Dean.” Sam tried to convey warmth, and comfort, and ease through his actions. He succeeded. Dean allowed his muscles to relax, slightly. Close as he was, he didn’t need to sniff the hand to know everything about Sam. Leather. Books. 

Nerd. He thought affectionately.

Still, there was something more to Sam. A different light. It was... calming. It was soothing. Like a lullaby.

Then Sam talked, and even his voice turned musical.

“You were bit by a familiar. So, you’re a familiar. We think it’s closer to a _curse_ than a full transformation though.”

 _A curse?_ Dean cocked his head... That made **sense**. His heart felt lighter after that.

A curse he could live with. A curse was what tons of people lived with. Some people were cursed to be ugly, some were cursed into animals (forever animals not some weird turning-human-turning-animal thing), and most still lived lives. Albeit vastly different ones to what they had lived before, but they had lived.

Dean would live.

Bobby piped in. “Never knew how they were made, you know? Thought it was family lines. Didn’t know it could be passed on through a bite.”

Dean snorted. It seemed no one had. Though, Dean really hadn’t even known familiars _existed_. They were stories. There were rumors. Whispers. One of the only mythical stories that hadn’t seemed real. Every monster, every Witch they’d fought had been by themselves, alone, no backup except perhaps more of their kind.

Cocking his head, Dean tried to ask a question. As broad as it was. Bobby seemed to understand.

“A familiar isn’t really anything special without a Witch. At least, as far as we know. Hunters don’t know a lot about Witches and Familiar bonds because, well. Witches don’t tend to talk to us...” Sam sighed as Dean watched him, unblinkingly. “From what we could gather, Witches control familiars. Since there are no Witches around, we should be safe. _You_ should be safe.”

Dean knew Sam didn’t really believe that. Witches were everywhere. Hidden in plain old society like any other monster was. What was to say that Familiars and Witches couldn’t find each other? What was to say that Dean wouldn’t be _called_ to a Witch? Dean turned away, not wanting to stare at Sam any longer. Then the strides turned longer, and shorter, and he turned and spun. He was pacing. It came easily. Like he was restless so he paced, as easy as that, as simple as that. His brain on Dog was base instinct, was easy, was simple.

Pulling himself to a stop, Dean huffed.

 _Simple? It was anything_ **_but_ ** _._

Because Dean wanted things simultaneously. He wanted to be petted. He wanted to bite Bobby. He wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. He wanted to crawl over to Sam and burrow into his jacket and smell the comfort of home, of family.

He wants it all, but he has to make choices. And as a dog, making choices seems to tear at his very existence.

So he makes the only one’s he can.

“Dean?” Sam called to him, pulling him from staring into the wide blue yonder.

_What could he do but add comfort where he could?_

Dean made his way over to Sam, collapsed on the ground next to his feet and shoved his face into his leather jacket as far as he could. And then he pretended he wasn’t a person and pretended he wasn’t a familiar and that this wasn’t his life. When Sam’s hands came down on his neck it made him believe the lie a little more. The strokes made him believe he was just a dog. That this was his life. That he was never human and this was some sick dream.

He allowed the fantasy for about a minute before pulling away, getting up, and walking back to the house, leaving Bobby and Sam in his dust.

It was time to start living with being what he was. It was time to live as a familiar.

And it was time to learn.

* * *

Bobby was woefully underprepared for any kind of familiar questions. He called everyone he could. He reached out to connections Dean and Sam had never even thought he could touch - and it all lead to very little.

Most Hunters agreed that familiars existed, but only a handful had ever defeated a Witch with one. All they said about that was that familiars were obedient to a fault, powerful, and not to be trifled with. See a Collared familiar, their Witch would not be far behind. 

 _(_ **_Collar_ ** _? Dean had glared balefully, going pale under his fur. Bobby giving him an apologetic shrug while Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable.)_

None of them had ever met a familiar that was unbonded.

That was something... at least. Even so, Dean promised the second he turned back to a human he would force a promise from Sam. That no matter what, if a Witch ever bound him, that he would shoot him dead. After Sam had been so estranged from the family maybe it would even be easy on him.

Maybe it would be easier than the other options.

Actually surviving.

* * *

Dean couldn’t speak, so Sam and he came up with a way to communicate when Dean had a lot to say but it would take forever with a yes or no twenty-question game.

And it was simply to sit Dean in front of a computer made for mentally challenged kids or children. The buttons were big, the keyboard large enough that if Dean had a stick he could poke the buttons.

It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

**gonnnna gio afgfter dadd?**

Dean typed one day.

“Go after Dad?” Sam asked, shaking his head. “Why would I? We’ve got to figure out **you** before we go after Dad.”

**Whuat bnpout hjeeessuicvca**

Sam absolutely stiffened.

“Jess is dead, Dean,” Sam said after a moment, his voice thick. “I’m going to get revenge on that son of a bitch that killed her, but Dean,” His large hand came out and pet down Dean’s neck. “We’ve got to solve this problem before we can go all blood thirsty.”

Dean went back to the keyboard, ready to respond, but Sam took the stick.

“No, Dean, I know.” Sam said, and it was the first time he’d activity shushed Dean. “I’ve been focused on finding Jess’s killer, I know. I’ve been kind of a dick about it too. But. Dean. Jess is dead. You’re still here. _You’re_ the priority. We’ll get you back to yourself first, then we’ll do what **I need** to do.”

 _Sammy..._ Dean thought, bearing his fangs in a snarl.

“Dean, I need you.”

That snarl fell of Dean's face. What could he say to that? Nothing, literally, so he did the only thing he could. He scooted closer to Sam, who threw his arms around Dean and hugged him close.

 _We’ll get revenge, Sam_ , Dean thought tucking his nose under his chin. _We’ll kill that son-of-a-bitch._

* * *

Dean slept with Sam most nights. He didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in his own bed, by himself, because everything was just too big. Too much space. With Sam it was as if he took up _just_ enough room, but it was on one particularly stormy night that Sam tossed and turned enough that it awoke him. As a dog, Dean knew he could sleep in just about any position, but he’d taken to guarding Sam’s feet, curled up nose to tail. Which is why he awoke when Sam **kicked** him.

 _:Hey!_ : Dean snarled, waking up with a snapping jaw, itching for a fight.

His hackles immediately settled as he saw the covers in the dark, moving. Violently. Sam was shifting, arms flailing, legs trapped under the blankets. It took Dean a moment. Only one to realize that Sam was having a nightmare, and a horrible one at that.

 _Sammy,_ Dean thought to himself, the hair on the back of his neck flattening as he padded softly over to Sam’s face. He couldn’t shake him awake. He didn’t have hands. He could bark, but that might just startle him. Sam had the reflexes of a cat, arms flinging deadly weapons as easily as if he were awake.

So... Dean took the highroad. He kicked himself internally, because this was going too far, wasn’t it? This... wasn’t this too dog?

But Dean found he was slowly losing his ability to care.

So he did it. He slowly but surely hoped onto the bed, made sure his paws were placed carefully as Sam tossed and turned. Then getting over Sam’s right arm, he plopped down over his chest and pinned his arm down. That settled Sam and he couldn’t move much after that. Not without tossing Dean.

Even subconsciously he would never do that.

In fact, his breathing settled, his heartbeat still thundering, but Dean tucked his nose up against Sam’s face, against his ear, and puffed softly. Trying to sooth in this new body, trying to figure out how to work it all. When Sam had been a baby, he would sit with him all night if he was fussy. This wasn’t so weird, when that was the alternative, huh?

In the morning, Sam woke up first, to Dean absolutely crushing him.

Considering Dean only weighed a third of his usual weight, it wasn’t much, but Sam groggily blinked. Dean hadn’t cuddled like this with him since they were kids. In fact, he’d gotten close like a dog, but it had never been this close. Practically on top of him.

 _Why would Dean do that?_ Sam questioned himself as he cocked his head and blinked blearily. _Was it a dog thing?_

It was just his luck that dog-Dean slept like the dead, just like human-Dean did. When he moved, Dean flopped like a useless piece of dead weight into his lap. It was endearing, a little. And, well, Sam was always one to take advantage of a situation. And Dean cuddling with him was something he wasn’t about to give up.

Especially after that nightmare. Jessica staring at him. Ceiling aflame. It was the same every time. Every damn time.

His hand pet Deans soft fur in even, kind strokes. Dean snuffled. Sam didn’t feel better, per se, but he felt a little lighter. He sat like that for a few minutes, just breathing, letting his heart go back to normal, and petting Dean. Which is why when Dean woke up, he was a little shocked that he didn’t bound off the bed, snarl and wipe his face, or do anything else Dean like.

He just sat and stared up at him.

Sam was shocked as Dean blinked groggily, stretched like a real dog would, and shook his head. It was part sleepily done, another part groggily confused. Once he figured out it was Sam he was up against, he settled back down again, head on his paws, in Sam’s lap. Closed his eyes and yawned.

The younger brother hadn’t a clue what Dean would be saying in that moment, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in one of the stories I read about familiar!Dean they had him as a Carolina Dog, which the more I thought about it seemed to fit. So that is the dog that I imagined Dean as in this story. If you want to believe a different breed, that is a-ok. Just authors choice :)


	3. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is getting the hang of being a dog. He finally manages to change back, but it takes a while. An unexpected visitor makes them both realize they knew a lot less about their father than they thought they did.

Dean couldn’t change back for a month.

A long month full of snuck bellyrubs, sneaking bacon off plates, and many books that had paper-cut his nose into ribbons. A month of hiding clothes around the junkyard just in case he turned back, because he knew he hadn’t brought the clothes with him (He may be a pet of magic, but that didn’t mean he **was** magic.).

A month of snuggling, something he would never have done before, in Sam’s bed with or without Sam. Finding he was much more... affectionate and free with his touch and wanting touch than before. A month of laying under Sam’s feet as he read aloud, of Bobby giving him tips on how to work with four feet, on how to use his nose to figure things out, and of hunting. Regular old hunting. Rabbits and fowl and the occasional deer. No monsters.

Neither Bobby nor Sam thought he was ready for it.

Dean, unable to convey anything except baleful anger or annoyance, just stared at them both hatefully.

Before all this they’d been so close to finding the demon who had come after Mom and Jessica. It seemed everything had been put on hold with him and his inability to do anything. The least he could do was figure out how to be human.

“Alright Dean, it should just be a matter of wanting.”

 _No shit Sherlock,_ Dean thought as he sat, eyes closed, stock still.

“You just have to really, really want to be human.”

Dean opened one eye to glare at Sam. The younger brother pulled his hands back in acquiescence. “Sorry. Got it.”

Huffing, Dean breathed through his nose and tried to imagine himself as human. How clothes felt against his skin. How breathing felt through a short, squat human face. How the lack of a tail had been normal. How it had felt to hold a gun, to be able to speak, to be able to say everything on his mind.

It was the same mantra he chanted to himself every time, Changing it up to add a few lines here and there, sure, but mostly keeping it the same.

To be human, he had to want it, and he had to want something about being a human that he couldn’t have as a dog.

Yet, no matter how much he craved fingers, or pooping on a toilet, or the ability to open doors - nothing gave.

That was, until something did.

It was bright and sunny outside and Dean lounged under the porch hiding from the heat, a favorite place he’d designated as ‘his spot’ when not in the house. The world was a haze of sleepy calm, pattering of feet above him, and easy conversation between Sam and Bobby. The same conversation topic as always: him.

“Dean under the porch or in the study?”

“Porch.”

“Think he’s doing okay?”

“Doing as best he can. He have any success with changing?”

“Bobby, I don’t even know where to _begin_ at this point...”

“I know, Sam.”

“It should be as easy as wishing and wanting it.”

“...You ever think Dean doesn’t want to change back?”

Okay, so the conversation had gotten heavy fast, Dean perked up to hear better - which was a joke, his hearing was practically magical - and waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Every damn day.”

 _Well fuck you very much too._ Dean huffed to himself as he rose from his slumped position and shimmied out from under the porch. A couple of the other junkyard dogs raised their heads, scoping out the place he’d left, before laying back down. It was too hot to fight for a claimed spot.

It was then, as he was heading to a farther spot along the dusty by-road that he heard it.

A kind of chuffing engine, squealing wheels, and a busted tailpipe. Even if he had been human and it had taken him a little longer to hear it - he’d know that sound anywhere.

John Winchester was in town.

With Sam there hadn’t been any real fear. Sure, he’d been hesitant because Sam would shoot to wound anything that could be ‘Dean’ish, but hell. Dean would have done the same to Sam. Bobby was good old Bobby and since he actually believed that Dean was a familiar - out of everything in the world - there wasn’t a lot of danger on his end.

But John?

John was the reason that Dean shot first and asked questions later. He was the reason that Dean slept with a knife under his pillow and a revolver under the blanket. And if he found a suspicious dog... well. Dean didn’t like dogs but John _really_ didn’t like them and Dean knew his old man knew every single dog on Bobby’s property.

Dean wasn’t one of those dogs.

* * *

 “Hey, Bobby,” Sam called out into the open screen door. “You seen Dean?”

“Last I saw was the porch. He’s not there?”

Sam just shook his head and knew Bobby would take that as he would. Standing with his hands on his hips, he turned every which way, looking for the sandy color of his brother as a dog. God, hadn’t that taken some time to get used to?

Shaking his head, he headed back inside, only to stop as he heard it. Johns truck.

 _Ahhh. Yeah. That’d do it._ And Sam remembered leaving a voicemail for John a month back. And it had taken him this long to check it out?

“Bobby.” Sam called out. “We’ve got company.”

* * *

Dean heard it all from a few yards into the yard, under a truck that had seen better days and a honda to it’s left side.

“Bobby,” John’s voice said. In greeting. It was his friendly voice. His neutral voice. “Sam.”

“John.” Dean could picture Bobby nodding.

“Dad.”

“What’s this about Dean getting bit and having a fever? What happened?”

 _Really?_ Dean had to snort. _Was that the only message he cared about?_

Ever since he had left Sam and Dean alone, they’d heard barely a peep from John. He said they were safer that way. He said that together they were too appetizing of a target. Unfortunately, he was right. _Still... a month? It had taken him a month?_

He wasn’t the only one thinking that.

“I left that voicemail almost a month ago, Dad,” Sam scoffed. “You couldn’t call?”

“Is Dean alright or is he not? What bit him?” Johns voice was now not so kind. Dean felt his hackles rise as he raised his voice to Sam. He never appreciated that. Now, as a dog, he appreciated it even less. Gone was the instant obedience and loyalty his human self would have felt, and left instead of a cold kind of displeasure.

“Dean’s fine. He’s around here somewhere. If that’s all you came for you can leave.”

There was the sound of Sam turning to go back into the house, and the sound of something else, a catching.

“Let me go.” Sam huffed.

Dean perked up at that. Felt a snarl rise to his lips. He was on his feet before he had consciously been aware of it. He was stalking forward easily enough, as if it was second nature. The hunting lessons paying off.

“No. Sam. Tell me what happened to you brother. What bit him?”

“Nothing dangerous.” Sam tried to calm his father down. Dean could hear it. “A dog.”

“A dog? You said he had a fever for almost  week - that’s **not** nothing.”

“I called you a month ago. You didn’t call back or even try to contact me. Believe me Dad, we’ve got the situation dealt with.”

“Bobby?”

“Believe your damn kid, John, honestly.” The way Bobby spat it had Dean slowing slightly, dodging to actually hide behind cars, and not full out tackle John to the ground for daring to raise his voice to Sam. His Sam.

His Sam.

Deans paw halted in midair as that settled into his brain. Permeated his existence.

_Did he really need a Witch... or did he just need someone to have a bond with?_

Taking a moment to really roll that thought around, Dean sniffed delicately. It didn’t matter. If it was so, then it was. If not... it wouldn’t do to dwell on it.

He tuned back in as his soul seemed to lurch inside his body.

“ - just call Dean. I want to speak with him.”

“Dad...”

“Are you telling me he’s not here?” John chuckled dryly. “The Impala is here. I would believe he would sooner drown that car in the ocean than leave it behind.”

Truth. All truth.

It also tickled Dean in his sternum. It insulted him. Mocked him.

And then it was like a switch was flipped. Taking a step back, so he wasn’t under the car any longer, Dean felt himself let go.

* * *

“Listen, Dad, Dean will be back later.” Sam said, with a stiff jaw. “And for the last time, he’s fine.”

John looked at him with suspicion. He always could see right through Sam. Sam cursed himself silently. So much for protecting Dean.

“John - “ Bobby started only for all of them to be interrupted by Dean walking around the car, a rag in his hands, bow legged and looking as human as ever. As human as he hadn’t been in a month.

“Well. Hey’ya pops.” Dean said with a bright grin. “What brings you into this neck of this lovely state?”

John looked at him as if he didn’t believe that Dean was really here.

“Dean.” John said, turning towards him. “Sam left me a rather frantic voicemail a few weeks ago.”

“You mean when I got rabies and blacked out for like a week, sir?” Dean said, sarcastically as he walked forward, wiping his hands on the rag. “Yeah. Probably should have called a little sooner than just showing up here now.”

“Rabies has no cure.” John said.

“Sam paid off a wiccan in tennessee.” Dean said easily enough, as he stepped past them all and onto the porch. “Now, can we eat? I’m starving.”

And then Dean was inside the house and Bobby and Sam were sharing a confused, but hopeful, side-eye, all while John Winchester smelled a rat. Because you didn’t live as long as he did by believing everything your kids had told you.

* * *

All Dean knew was that as a dog he had eaten a cup of food for dinner and for breakfast, the good kind of human stuff that Bobby had begrudgingly given him, and that now he was a human he could stuff two hamburgers down his throat before he felt even marginally full.

It was heavenly.

“You been starving yourself or something, boy?” John asked as he leaned back in his chair.

“Sam’s been trying to kill me, sir,” Dean made up an excuse easily enough. “Salads, portions. It’s been damn near the last thing I ever want to try again.”

Sam chuckled. “Hey, you liked the chicken salad!”

“Sam, I gotta come clean to ya,” Dean even set his burger down to show he was serious. “I only ate the chicken and threw the green stuff away.”

Bobby even cracked a smile, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Atta boy.”

It was normal. The banter turned to picking on Sam, to picking on Bobby. Everyone got a turn to poke and needle each other. Which is why when John asked, “When’d you two boys get a dog?” the conversation at the table halted to a standstill.

“I hate dogs,” Dean said, furrowed brow. “Why the hell would I ever let Sam get a dog?”

“Dean’s got a point.”

“Checked the Impala,” John said easily enough. “Dog hair. Unless you brought a werewolf to a hospital?”

As a dog, everything had been easy as pie life. Things had been slow in a way that hadn’t been before. Leisurely. Since nobody could understand him, he’d been left alone with his thoughts a lot. And that made it surprisingly easy to come up with a cover story.

His mouth, on the other hand, was a few seconds behind.

“I’m not even sure what to say to that.” Dean said instead of the very well thought out story of Sam hitting a Dog, and meeting a girl, and leaving Dean out in the pouring rain for a half a day. And he was apparently too charming, because John was standing instantly. Sam flanking him quickly.

And that. That told John all he needed.

“What bit you, Dean?” He said, his voice calm, cool. A hunter voice. For a hunter problem.

It was also an order.

Dean picked his hamburger back up and took another bite. John actually waited for him to finish. Which was pretty nice of him, because Dean could sense he was seconds away from pulling his gun and pressing it against his forehead.

“Got bit by a German Shepard, sir.” Dean leaned back in his chair. “Like Sam said. Bit by a dog.”

“And.” John said through gritted teeth.

“And what the hell do you think I’m hiding from you?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t know,” John said honestly. “But I know it’s not good. You’re different. And these two are covering for you.”

Bobby nor Sam denied it. They didn’t defend themselves, but they didn’t defend him, either.

“I was bit by a regular run of the mill German Shepard. I got sick. I got better.” Dean glared at his father. “It’s not rocket science.”

And then the cool metal barrel of a gun was placed against his temple. This had never actually happened before. John had never held a gun to Deans head. Sure, he’d threaten and he would run his mouth, but at the end of the day, Dean wasn’t a monster.

It seemed that had changed.

“Awe, you really did miss me, pops.” Dean said, which only led to John pushing the barrel further into his skin. A warning. A warning that made Dean want to bite John.

”Dean.” Sam warned, just as he turned to hold his hand up to John. “Dad. Get ahold of yourselves.”

Bobby was there to save the day. He grabbed John's wrist quickly and yanked his hand and the gun away.

“If all you’re going to do is threaten your children, John Winchester, then get the hell out of my house,”

“No,” John denied him. “You all tell me what the hell is going on. And that, that is an order Dean.”

He still had that gun. He still was waving it around. Bobby barely flinched, Sam looked pained, and Dean just stared at his father.

An order. Dean knew that he lived for orders. Or... he had. Something in his chest was prickly. He didn’t want to fight John. When he was bit, the first thing he’d really thought through the haze of fever, was that he had to kill himself before his father had to.

John had ordered him to speak. He had never disobeyed before. He **never** did before. So he didn’t now.

“Fine.” Dean said.

“Dean...”

“No, Sammy, I got this,” Dean held up a hand.

“You’re right Dad. Something bit me. Turned me.” Dean shrugged helplessly, with a grin the size of texas and twice as fake. “Don’t know what I am. Just know I’m basically harmless.”

“Harmless?” John scoffed. “No monster is harmless.”

“Monsters? No. Demon? No.” Dean kind of chuckled. “A dog, though? Probably a little less harmful in the grand scheme of things.”

And then Dean transformed because he was a glutton for punishment, and maybe, just maybe, he was slightly suicidal as well. Then again, sitting on the floor, sitting like any well trained mutt, in the middle of a pool of his clothes, Dean was starting to think he was a little something special. A mix of all kinds of crazy.

_To actually transform in front of his father had been pretty ballsy, hadn’t it?_

It seemed he made the right choice as John lowered the gun and murmured, “A familiar. Shit.”

* * *

“You know what he is?” Sam was the first to talk, before he turned to Dean and demanded - “And how the hell did you transform? We’ve been working on that for a solid month!”

“Transform?” John asked, the gun lower to the left of him. “No. Not Transform. You mean _change_. It’s a curse.”

He said it so simply. As if it made perfect sense. As if there was a difference.

“Now’s not the time.” Dean told Sam, human again. It seemed so easy now. So... like changing clothes. Where had the block been? How had this been hard? Everyone kind of looked away as he got his pants back on.

“You know about Familiars?” He aimed toward John. “How the **hell** do you know about Familiars? We didn’t know shit about familiars and we’ve been researching for a month!”

“You’re not the first, Dean,” John said, stashing the gun away.

“Wait,” Sam held up his hands and blinked a few times. “You’ve known that Familiars can be _made_?”

“Yes. Occasionally a human bitten by a familiar will turn. It’s rare. Really rare,” John shook his head, staring at Dean. Weighing him. Finding him wanting... “I was with a guy who was bit by a Witch's familiar in Ohio, way back in 82. He didn’t turn. A few years after, with a different Hunter...” He looked away. “Different story.”

“So, what? I’m not a threat.” Dean said, keeping his cool, level as always.

“Not without a Witch,” John said, forcefully, shaking his head. “Without a Witch, you're just a guy who turns into a dog. It’s a curse mostly.”

It was more of a slap to the face than Dean thought it would be.

“And you never told me any of this because?” Bobby demanded.

“Because...” John looked sheepish and ashamed for a split second. “I forgot.”

“You, John Winchester, the king of shoot first, ask questions later,” Bobby scoffed. “Forgot?”

They all knew he was lying. It was easy to see. ‘Why’ they couldn’t grasp.

“Tanner took off afterwards. I found him a few months later. As a rat. He was harmless. Worse for wear, but he didn’t have any special powers, magic or anything - he just was a human who turned into a dinky rat.”

“And you let him live?” Sam demanded, with a scoff as he turned away, paced a few steps. “Just like that?”

“I did.” John said, nodding his head.

“That sounds even less like you than usual.” Dean shook his head, plopping back to the counter to his burger. “Not that I ain’t grateful or nothing, but this is sure a surprise.”

“Yeah, well,” John said, also sitting down. “I don’t kill rats or dogs just because. And it wasn’t like they were Witches. They are pets. You don’t kill the weapon just cause the host is no use.”

The word pet struck something within Dean. Like a live wire. His skin felt tight again, his body too large.

And just like that he was back to being dog Dean.

_Damnit._

* * *

John was a wealth of information. Well, more information than Bobby had been, anyway. They all sat on the couches, Sam and Dean on the armchair, Dean curled up into the space between Sam and the couch, and John on the couch across from them. Dean couldn’t turn back and John explained that as best he could, too.

Familiars were assistants to Witches. Only with a Witch did they become anything other than a person with the ability to turn into one animal. A single, solitary animal. Not even a good disguise against just about anyone who knew anything about the supernatural.

They didn’t have magic. They didn’t have any violent tendencies. Not until a Witch came into the equation.

And that was where the kicker came in.

Dean and Sam both couldn’t understand why their father, king of killing anything weird and odd, hadn’t ganked his Hunter friend Tanner. When he explained, Dean was left reeling in his doggy shell of a body.

Witches had to ask the Familiar. Consent was a big part of the process. There was a bond between the two, and neither could enter into a bond without both parties being willing. Seeing as Dean was a Hunter, John knew there was nothing to worry about on that front.

So. Dean lived.

_Thanks a lot pops._

“So... does Dean need any kind of magic to sustain himself?” Sam asked, always full of questions.

John shook his head. “Not that Tanner told me.”

And Dean then knew that Tanner would never have told his dad everything. If John was anything like he was around his kids, around Tanner - that would be a stupid move. Saying anything about magic. About feeling itchy or the changing coming. Or about not being able to change back.

And Dean also knew that he was something magic. Knew it like he knew that his super senses knew what peppermint smelled like on a base layer.

Tell John that, though?

_Yeah. Fat chance of that._

“Well. Could be worse.” Sam said, before looking at Dean. “Can you change back?”

The dog hesitated, he had tried a few times while everyone had been talking to reach for that mysterious force that had allowed him to change, but was left wanting. He knew what it felt like now, so he knew he could figure it out. Instead he was left with nothing. So, he shook his head.

“Great.”

 _Right?_ Dean thought, but settled his head onto Sam’s leg. Sam’s fingers digging in behind his ears. It was heavenly. A comfort.

Dean felt he could use all the comfort he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have some bits and pieces of the next season's written as well, but the plot elements need to be thought out a little more... So... Any reviews and advice would be great! I am new to writing Supernatural FF and it is kind of nerve wracking trying to get all the details right and writing the characters true to themselves.  
> So. Advice and reviews. Yeah. If you guys could do that it would be great :)


	4. Witching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons and Witches. One thing the brothers know how to fight, the other knows how to fight them. Meg shows up and Dean gets his first taste of Witch.

“So, I got a case. You boys coming?” John asked the two of them a while later.

Sam and Dean were on the couch, Sam reading and Dean settled in next to him. Dean was still a dog, kind of stuck once again, and perked up his ears towards his dad. What was he on about? Sam looked at Dean and Dean looked back. Both pretty neutral on their feelings.

Which was anger at being ignored and deflected.

“Uh, that’s the first thing you say to us in,” Sam looked at his watch. “Days?”

_ And you’re surprised, Sam?  _ Dean wanted to ask, but instead huffed and laid his head back down.

“Yes,” John said, looking at Sam like he was crazy. As if the question made no sense. “Now, are you boys coming?”

Even as a dog, Sam and Dean shared a contemplative look. Dean cocking his head. Sam raising those bushy brows.

And universally they both accepted.

“Alright, yeah,” Sam said, standing up with Dean on his heels. “Let's go. I’ll grab Dean’s bag too, I don’t know when he’ll turn back.”

John rolled his eyes. “You do that.”

Dean wanted to snarl, but thought better of it as the behemoth that was his brother bent down to his level. Which was quite a feat.

“Now, Dean,” He said sternly. “I don’t know how this whole... changing thing goes, alright? I know you don’t either.”

_ No shit Sammy. _ Dean thought but was otherwise attentive. Sam still talked to him like he was a human. Not ignored him like John did until he needed him. It was... humanizing.

“That being said, can you turn back?”

Dean emphatically shook his head. He’d tried, a bunch of times. But the itchiness was not coming. The uncomfortable feelings were gone. The mojo had left the building and he was left with little but a sniff of hope.

“I thought not.” Sam sighed his big sad sigh. “Dad and I are taking lead, you got it? You follow. You smell something or hear something, I want you to tell us. I’ll try and ask yes and no questions whenever I can. Bark once for yes, two for no. If you want to use the laptop, just put your paw on it or something, okay? You get the info to me and I  _ will _ listen.”

Dean took his job seriously in any form. He nodded once, slowly, with feeling.

Sam nodded back, jaw clenching. 

“Then let’s go.”

* * *

“The dog needs to be on a leash,” The kid at the motel counter said. “And needs to be wearing a collar.”

Looking over to look at Dean he added dispassionately, “It’s the law. For identification.”

Dean felt offended, even if he understood and probably would have petitions for such a law himself. If he were, as it were, an upstanding citizen. Which he wasn’t. 

So he was just pissy.

_ A collar? They wanted him to wear a collar? _

Damnit. He needed to figure out this whole transformation thing. Fast.

“He’s a stray. We just found him,” John said with an apologetic shrug. “We’ll get him one when we go into town.”

The kid looked at Dean with distaste. Seeing all the things that could go wrong with an unhousebroken pet. Luckily, he didn’t care. He wasn’t the cleaning crew, so what did it matter to him? 

Stupid snot nosed kid.

“It’s extra for the dog.” 

“Whatever,” John said, placing the cash and his fake I.D. that proclaimed he was Martin Washerfield down onto the table. “Just get us a room. Two beds.”

Dean stayed sitting obediently where Sam had commanded him to sit the entire time, staring the kid down. Apparently it wasn’t the least bit unnerving, as the kid only looked at him a few times during the transaction. Even though Dean kept his tail carefully un-wagged, the kid didn’t seem unnerved by him.

“He friendly?” The kid asked, after Dean hadn’t broken his stare, handing the keys over.

“Would we take in a dog if he wasn’t?” Sam asked, with one of his award winning smiles.

“Fair point.” The kid shrugged, clearly just making small talk. “Can I pet him?”

Sam frowned in neutrality, looked to be thinking it over, and after sharing a look that Dean couldn’t see or decipher from John - shrugged. 

Dean felt betrayed as the kid came around the counter. 

Traitor, he wanted to hiss, but played his part of obedient stray that was maybe just a run-away family pet.

“Hey there boy - ” He coo’d smelling like tuna sandwich, alcohol, and at  _ least  _ a pack of cigarettes. 

Never had Dean wanted to rip someone’s throat out for touching him so nicely before. Well. Until the ear scratches, at least. Then, alright, fine. The kid wasn’t so bad.

He would never admit that to Sam, though.

* * *

Dean somehow managed a transformation as John and Sam went into town for food and the aforementioned collar. They’d left him in the dark motel room with the door locked, assuming he wouldn’t get it up, as it were. But he showed them.

He was pulling on his shirt over his head just as they came in the room.

“Well, lookit that.” John said with a smile. “You managed it.”

“Yeah, and I feel like crap for doing it.”

Which, wasn’t a lie. It must have been too much or something, because he really did feel sick to his stomach. 

Dean held out though.

“A collar,” He snarled, drawing himself up with arms crossed. Feeling uncomfortable as Sam took the thing out of a brown plastic baggie. “Tell me I don’t have to wear that.”

Sam looked completely unashamed as he held it up for Dean to see. “Come on Dean, it’s only for when you're a dog. And plus, I think you’ll look good in blue.”

Dean saw red as he snarled, but lost the fight against himself and transformed again into dog-dean in a pile of clothes.

“Save up your strength, son,” John said, not unkindly, as he got down on Dean’s level, ruffled his pathetically cute ears, and helped him out of the shirt. “Use your human mojo sparingly, okay? We may need that later. And I thought you said you couldn’t control it?”

Dean shook his head angrily. He couldn’t. He’d mustered up enough anger and stubborn will to go through with the action, to snarl about the collar, but it hadn’t been worth it. Just like his father had said.

“Just as a dog, Dean,” Sam reminded as he came over and took his father's place in front of Dean. 

He held out the collar.

_ Sure,  _ Dean thought to himself as he bared his neck obediently.  _ Just in dog-Dean form.  _

It was still embarrassing.

The collar was black with dark blue stitching and when Sam put it on, he knew it was just for show, so he left it considerably loose. Just in case Dean needed to lose it and run for the hills. Or if he were caught he wouldn’t be like any other dumb animal trapped by their collar.

Dean still hated it.

Yet, he knew he would have hated it more if John had been the one to put it on.

* * *

Sam and Dean went to talk to witnesses while John went to check out the authorities.

Though they went as a group, Sam and Dean immediately split up. It would look suspicious for an agent to be lugging around a dog, after all, so Dean was tied up a short jaunt away, to a tree. Close enough that he could hear but far enough away that nobody would think he was Sam’s. He could also smell. Not as well as hear, but it was still useful.

“The police said it was a mountain lion,” The fourth girl that Sam was interviewing said, corroborating what every other person had said when showed a picture and asked questions. Did they not get original content? Did they not know how to be different people?

He tuned the girl out as Sam went into his pitch.

Dean snorted.  _ Boringggg _ .

“Well, what do we have here?” A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Its got a new flavor to it, but that scent... Dean Winchester.”

Dean froze. He knew that voice. 

Turning he snarled to see the smiling face of a woman he had never met before, but he knew her. Or at least what she was. Sulfur, rotten eggs, and blood. It was Meg. The demon who had made their life a living hell. Who had been coming after them equally as vicious as they’d been going at her.

“You know, dogs shouldn’t be left all alone,” She said as she crouched next to him. He snapped at her as he tugged to the very end of his leash. “Anything could happen to them.”

_ Screw you,  _ Dean thought, growling lowly.

“Hey now, no need for that foul language,” Meg tsks. 

Dean blinked back another growl. It got stuck in his throat.  _ :You understand me?: _

“I do, Dean. But, that's besides the point,” Meg rolled her eyes. “I  _ know  _ who you are. Does the rest of your bloodthirsty family? Or did the big, kind giant adopt you out of the goodness of his heart.”

_ :They know.: _ Dean growled with a finality to end her questions.

He was vulnerable here. Alone. Anything could happen. He didn’t need to needle her.

“It’s a whole lot of weird to see you as a Familiar, I’ll give you that, Dean.” Meg poked him. “How’d that happen?”

_ :I’d imagine like most are made.: _

“Bit. Got it.”

She whistled.

“So then you’re wearing a collar cause you let them,” Meg laughed, reaching her hand forward to quickly and petting his ears. “Lookit that. The great Dean Winchester -  **tamed** .”

The word was an insult. It was a slap to his face. It insulted his name and him.

_ :I’m not tame,: _ Dean snipped back. : _ I can slip out of this collar whenever I want.: _

“That's not what I mean, and you know it, Dean-o.” 

_ :Yeah, so what?: _

“So how long you’ve been like this?”

_ :None of your business.: _

“So long enough to  _ matter _ , but not long enough to  **matter** .” 

The way she stressed the words made Dean's ears press even farther against his skull.

_ :What the fuck do you want, Meg?: _

“Just came to check on my favorite hunter family, that’s all.” She said, with a grin of sharp teeth. 

: _ Right _ .: He snorted.

“What? Can’t a demon have favorites?”

_ :Fuck you. _ :

“You know, Dean, I could snap your neck just as easy as one-two,” Her hand came around his neck too fast for him to dodge.

If he’d been human, he could have struggled, kicked his way away, but as a dog - when you had control of the head, you controlled the animal. He snarled. He tried to bite, but Meg had his nose and jaw held closed with her inhuman strength. 

“Three.” She said smugly. Holding him down. With a little bit more of a pinch on his snout that made Dean _honest to god_ **_whimper_** , she added. “But I don’t think I will... This is _interesting_ , you know? Something that doesn’t happen any old day. I want to watch how it ends...”

_ :Let me go.: _ Dean said, petulantly. Subdued.

Meg actually did.

Dean bared his teeth at her and she just giggled all cutely. 

Meg said, looking over his shoulder. “Eh, the moose is coming back. You stay out of trouble, huh, fluffy? What a  _ good  _ fluffy puppy!”

Dean bared his teeth and almost bit a chunk out of her arm when she came too close. Which she pulled back and looked offended and on the verge of tears. He only realized why as he heard the pounding footsteps of his brother coming behind him.

“Whoa! Hey, Dean, boy, calm down!”

It was a command and Dean unfortunately was forced to snap his jaw shut and whine pitifully as he accidentally bit his tongue. 

Even though Sam knew that Dean wasn’t really a dog, he was in a bit of a panic mode. Sam expertly undid the lead from the tree and Dean trotted behind him to hide from Meg. Wearily watching her as he barked at her again and again.

Meg looked up at Sam with watery eyes. “Your dogs not very friendly. Jesus, you left him tied up next to the park. There are  _ kids  _ here.”

Sam crouched next to Dean.

_ :You bitch, _ : Dean snarled now being held back by his collar.

Sam looked gutted. “I’m  _ so sorry _ . He’s usually not like this. Come on Dean, lets go.”

Dean continued to growl and bare his teeth and snap the entire way. Sam looking more than annoyed.

Meg looking triumphant, and on her cellphone.

_ What the hell was that about? _

* * *

“Dean what the hell was that about!” Sam demanded in a hush whisper.

Knowing he couldn’t talk, Dean snapped his jaw shut and glared at him.

“What?” Sam demanded, getting down on his level. The lightbulb clicked as Dean stared at him. “Was she... was she dangerous?”

Dean barked nodding. 

“Ah. A monster? A demon?” Sam blinked and started asking rapid fire questions, halting only for the barks. He finally transmitted what happened, with a few holes in the story. Sam frowned hard at him and shook his head. Like the fact that the Demon was Meg.

“We’ve got to get a better communication system. I can’t believe I left you with a  _ demon _ , Dean.”

_ :Gah, Sammy don’t beat yourself up,: _ Dean sighed, putting his paw on his knee. He also whined pitifully. Feeling awful for making Sam feel bad. Sam didn’t get the words, but he got the gist.

“Thanks Dean.”

His cell rang then. It was John. He had gotten a lead. A police officer who had gone off grid and used some vacation time around the same time the victims had been killed. A few days  **before** each kill.

From then it was easy as one, two - Witch.

* * *

**** It turned out the police officer was a Witch. Small time. Way over his head. Still, he’d sacrificed two woman in the past month for a cure to his cancer, he deserved death. It was almost too good for him. It was such an easy case though, because the man was a weakling. Not even a  **one** of the ‘evil to bad’ scale. 

He was a Witch but that wasn’t saying much.

Honestly, Dean wondered if John had known  _ before  _ the fact and set it up this way to test Dean. Test his constitution against a Witch. Any Witch.

Always willing to prove himself, Dean went in with his nose to the ground and followed every direction to the letter.

“I got the address from getting the GPS on his phone from the number they had on file at the station,” John said as they all sat in the Impala, looking to the small house on the very edge of the cul de sac.

“This his home address?” Sam asked, watching the side windows.

“No, it is not.” John said. “Which makes it a probable victim. And he’s going to make his move soon. We’ve got to stop him.”

“Understood, sir.” Sam said easily enough. Dean echoed the sentiment, even if they didn’t hear. He turned to Dean in the back then. “Now, Dean, you follow. Watch our backs. You hear or smell anything, tug on the left side of my jeans. Immediate action, bark. Got it?”

Sam looked directly into his eyes as he gave the order, Dean nodded strictly.

That. That he could do.

* * *

In the end, the first encounter that Dean had with a Witch as Familiar and Witch was... anticlimactic.

They entered the house. The man had a woman tied up to a chair but he’d yet to set up any kind of ritual. It was sloppy work, really. Even as the man had two kills under his belt. Sam and John had their guns on him, demanded he turn around. Collapsing on the ground, the man sobbed and babbled.

He smelled like desperation, blood, and a sharp smell of pine. It stung Dean’s nose. It wasn’t pleasant at all.

“Please,” The man pleaded with them as Sam and John held their guns up, one on his chest, the other on his head. Kill shots. “I didn’t mean to. I just - ”

Dean smelled the lie. Heard the heartbeat. He growled and barked sharply twice. 

Sam only took a second to understand.

“My dog seems to not believe that.”

“Your dog?” The man’s entire face changed. He looked to Dean like a man would look to water. First confused, then with a thirst that lingered on intense. He looked at Dean like Dean expected every Witch to look at him. Want. Lust. Hunger. A chill swept down Dean’s spine.

“A familiar,” The man said, reverently. Which made Dean think familiars weren’t just rare from being bit, but in general. He looked to Sam and John, ignoring Dean for the moment. “He’s not  _ some dog, _ he’s a Familiar, and he should be  **mine** .” 

_ :Like hell,:  _ Dean snarled, growling deep in his throat.

Dean put on a strong face, didn’t waver in the face of fear, but he wasn’t above admitting he  _ was _ scared. This was it, after all. Meeting a Witch face to face. Could he be woo’d by that simple fact alone even though the man was as weak as a newborn baby?

“Come on then, Familiar. Why hang out with humans when you can hang out with magic,” The man smiled at him. A cruel smile but there was a hint of softness. Hidden. For Dean. It was pathetic, but there was something about the display that spoke to Dean. 

It was a whisper. 

It whispered how this was  **Witch** , and he was  **Familiar** , and that magic was there. Didn’t he want to at least sniff at it?

It was a whisper too much. 

With a snarl, Dean launched himself forward.

“Dean, no!” Sam shouted, throwing his arm out, but he missed Dean.

But his words didn’t miss Dean’s ears. Dean heard the command, heard the pleading in Sam’s voice, and he stopped, slowed, growling still. Snarling. Yet he moved no closer. There was a sigh of relief that Sam puffed out. Dean still wanted to tear into the man as easily as a knife to butter, but he held back.

“Ah,” The Witch said, a dawning look of understanding. An understanding that Dean didn’t get. ”A pity.”

After that, it was action. The man grabbed a blade from behind his back and rose to stab forward. Three shots greeted him, in a cluster on his chest. John’s aim true and sure as his boys were in danger. The Witch staggered, the knife falling out of his hands as he collapsed to his knees first, then onto his back. 

Dead.

Dean knew the addition to his senses would make death seem all that more... gruesome, but he had no idea how much. Blood fresh was one thing, but the singing of splatters, the groan of bones hitting ground, and the squishes were loud. The smell dialed up to an extreme that actually made even Dean-dog’s stomach sick. 

The worst part was that it made him hunger.

The best part was that he now knew he held only disdain for Witches who dared to threatened Sam.

And that relieved a part of his heart that had been far, far too heavy.

“How are you feeling Dean?” John asked as he walked forward to kick the Witch.

He couldn’t speak but he communicated just fine by sitting down, settling on his haunches, blinked carefully three times - slowly - before laying down to pant happily.

“I’d say that means pretty good.” Sam said, with a boyish-smile. “I’ll get the girl.”

John stared at him a moment longer before point a finger at him and gravely saying, “We’re talking about this when you go human, got it?”

Head still on his paws, Dean nodded.

_ Of course they would talk about it. _

Because Dean had known he would obey Sam. The surety with which his actions had been lead as Sam had shouted at him though... it told him there was something  **more** to everything. Because Dean had listened, obeyed, and had done so quickly that it was  _ out  _ of his nature.

There was a lot to talk about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I have the rest of it written, I will either update it tomorrow or the next day. Hopefully end of week, no later. As always, love reviews and adore comments about anything and everything. I need the mojo to write the next season... its gonna be weird with Dean being a familiar cause of all the plot points in that season. So. Help would be great? Yeah? :D  
> Then again, if nobody really cares for this story then season 2 will never get written. Oh well.


	5. Familiar Lore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leaves, but not before Dean can get a number from his phone. The brothers continue hunting and find something they'd not bargained for.

John wanted to talk immediately. Tried to force Dean to change any which way he could, but succeeded with so little reward it was hardly worth it. And it wasn’t that Dean couldn’t change. He was delaying. He knew that the itch that he needed to transform was not there. The more he stayed around Sam the better he felt. And he knew on the second day back that he was just avoiding the inevitable. If he was going to change, it was going to be on his terms.

And his terms were now.

When everyone came to the breakfast table, it was to Dean shoving his face with fruit loops.

“And the prodigal son returns,” Bobby said as he settled himself at the stove with some bacon, eggs, and a couple veggies. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he passed. “Good to see you’re back for a bit. You any idea how long?”

“It comes and goes...” Dean said, staring thoughtfully into his pink milk. “When the itch comes, I go back to being a dog. I don’t feel it all that bad right now, so. I think I’m fine.”

Bobby didn’t look at him but he hummed back.

Then Sam was next. His entire face lit up from slumber like christmas had come early.

“Dean!” He said, sliding into a chair at the table effortlessly. “How long have you been back to... well _human_?”

“Not long, ten minutes at the most,” Dean answered just as easily. “I can feel it coming back, but I know everyone had questions so... Well.” He looked around the table. Saw John coming from the hallway to the bedrooms. “You guys wanted answers.”

He only waited for John to come around the corner before he began. And he outlined the Hunt as he had seen it from his eyes. Not pulling punches, explaining the smells he smelled, Meg the Demon (which had made Sam go absolutely pale), the Witch and how he had felt a tingle of curiosity but nothing more. Nothing concrete or sure or anything.

He explained it all and felt equally drained. The itching was back but he was damned if he was going to give in so soon. It’d been an hour. If that. He could hold out a little longer, he knew he could. And how everything was going, if he kept himself dog for a few days then he should have an hour or two of human time.

“Wow,” Sam said from his slumped position in his chair, his face a mask of concern and caution. “That’s. That explains a lot actually. And you’re sure with the Witch? You’re sure it was nothing?”

Dean hadn’t explained the strange need he had to obey Sam. He just hadn’t. It was too weird. Too... supernatural.

And it wasn’t hurting anyone.

“It was a tingle.” Dean said. “The only thing I felt after the encounter was the want to take a shower after tearing his throat out. Which,” Dean reminded him. “I didn’t even get to do!”

“Huh,” Sam scoffed and looked down. “Should have let you.”

Dean gave him a ‘no duh’ look before snatching a slice of toast from Bobby’s plate he set down.

“Alright,” John said, nodding. Like he believed him. “So then you’re good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

And he got up and left.

What did it say that Dean and Sam both didn’t think anything of it?

They hadn’t even discussed Jessica or Mom. Dean was almost proud of Sam, except he knew that he thought of Jessica’s murder every night. He was putting it off for him. He was not arguing and spit-fighting with Dad, for him.

He wasn’t following Dad out the door, for him.

* * *

Dean had a lot of questions still. It had been another few weeks, but still he knew so little about himself. He spent more time as a human than as a dog, but he still spent way too much time as a four-legged canine if he had any say in it. So he did what he had to do. He swiped all the Tanners numbers in his father's phone before he drove off into the sunset and then cross-referenced cases he’d worked with Tanners he knew and last names.

It took about a week. But it was worth it. Letting other people know about his problem wouldn’t do. He had to find the Tanner he needed. And came up with one that he had no clue about. It was a long shot, but he knew how to talk Hunter.

The phone rang once. Twice.

 _“Hello._ ” A drawling southern voice came over the line.

“Uh - This Tanner Ulis?”

There was a sizable pause. _“... Who's asking?”_

“Dean Winchester.”

 _“...Winchester? Who - Oh. Ah. Yeah. Johns boy. Yeah I remember hearing about you.”_ He sounded almost wistful. _“What can I do you for?”_

Dean took a deep breath.

“It’s a bit of a complicated situation.”

_“And?”_

All or nothing right?

“I believe you and I share a similar... circumstance.” That was the right word, right?

“ _That so._ ”

“Little less than two months ago, I was bit by a dog, and after a week of some pretty shitty fever and hell on earth... My father told me all you told him.”

Dean knew it was a long shot. He did. But when Tanner didn’t freak out and turn on him, he knew he had the right guy.

 _“Ah.”_ Tanner said, the lightbulb had clicked. _“You’re... Got it. And if your father told you all he knows, why are you contacting me?”_

“Lets just say I know he said a few things wrong.”

 _“Yeah. You’re like me. You don't believe him. Smart.”_ A pause. “ _Where are you? I'll come to you.”_

Reeling, Dean got up to start pacing. “Wait. What - You want to meet?”

_“Things like this shouldn’t be discussed over the phone.”_

“I’m at Bobby’s. You know Bobby, right?”

 _“Singer? Yeah. Yeah. I know the place. That son’of’a’bitch is still in business?”_ Tanner chuckled. _“Meet at the bar up the road? 2:30 tomorrow is the earliest I can get there.”_

Dean felt surprised at how well that worked. How fast Tanner was willing to meet. With how the world was turning, a little luck coming his way was just what he needed. Shrugging, knowing he wasn’t going to see it, Dean smiled and said.

“I should have a few hours of humanity in me. Sounds fine to me.”

_“Still having trouble with that?”_

“It's getting better. I’ve saved up for a bit. I should have two and a half hours by tomorrow if I go dog now.”

 _“Good. That’s good. See you tomorrow then.”_ Before Dean could clicked off, he said. _“And Dean?”_

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear an inch and then back. “Yeah?”

“ _Come alone._ ”

The click wasn’t ominous. Dean tried to convince himself it wasn’t, even as he carefully shed his clothes, folded them, and went off on four paws looking for Sam. A good snuggle with his brother would do him a world of good. It just would.

* * *

Tanner was a stick of a guy, the size of Sammy but half the width, with a kind of southern look to him, which explained the accent. He was scruffy, like most Hunters were, with a look in his eyes that spoke of caution and mistrust. Yet when his eyes landed on Dean, there was understanding and his eyes brightened.

The smells of the bar were there in all their alcoholic glory but there was something else that made Dean's nose tingle. It was fresh, like what Sam smelled like. Dean couldn’t figure out the connection. Sam was a Hunter, his brother, and this Tanner dude was a familiar, like him. What kind of connection could there be?

“Dean.” Tanner greeted him with a jerk of his head. A nod.

“Tanner.”

They took a moment. Dean ordering a couple light-beers. Tanner made a face, but took the proffered alcohol. That, if nothing else, confirmed to Dean that Tanner was a familiar. When they got to the table, that was when Tanner started talking.

“A dog bit you, so are you a dog or something else?” He started off as easily as that. Jumped straight in. As he talked though, he looked at the grimey tablestop.

“Yeah. I’m a dog. What else would I be?”

Tanner snorted.

“Just cause a...” His mouth shut, he looked around suspiciously. “Just cause one of us bites another, doesn’t mean the species translates over.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.

“You get me?”

“Wait. Are you saying that I could have been bit by a cat and I still would have been a dog?”

“Or a bird, or whatever your spirit and soul tells you you're gonna be.”

Dean smirked, took a swig of beer, and chuckled. “Soul? Spirit? That’s what decides it?”

Tanner shrugged. “Good as any other explanation? And there **are** hundreds.”

“Huh. Alright then,” Dean accepted and leaned back. “I guess it’s as good as I’m gonna get.”

Tanner gave him a cool kind of amused look. “That’s the truth, but enough of that chit-chat. Your father told you what I told him about what we are, right?”

“Yup. ”

“I may have... stretched the truth a little with him.”

Dean _knew it_ and felt the sinking dropping feeling in his stomach. Placing his empty beer glass down he turned fully to Tanner.

“Yeah?”

Tanner didn’t meet his eyes, until he did. And he looked guilty.

“Yeah.”

* * *

Familiars came in two flavors, Tanner told him. There were those turned and there were those that were true-born. And true-born was exactly what it sounded like. Generation on generation of familiars to Witches. When true-born familiars reached the age of twelve, they changed for the first time. On the other hand, no matter the age of the ones bitten, they always changed the first month.

The story that John had told him was right, except for a few... discrepancies.

“You see, I told John that as long as we didn’t have a Witch, we’d be practically human who just had a furry, but _controlled_ , problem.” He stressed _‘control’_.

“Really?”

“It’s not a lie, but it's not the full truth, either.”

“Yeah and what is the _full_ truth?” Dean asked, arms crossed, in the same position as he’d been for the past thirty minutes as Tanner had explained the background of familiars. “I’m not going to go savage or rabid am I?”

“You won’t go rabid or savage, ever. The full truth is that we may not need a Witch of our own, but we do need... someone.” Tanner looked away as he said that, fiddling with a beer cap.

“Someone?” Dean asked, but he had a sinking feeling.

“Someone that we connect with. Not bond. That only happens with a Witch,” He shook his head, sighed, and sat up straight, leaning over the table. “You see Dean, we may just be people with furry, or feathered, or scaly problems - but there is more than that. We _have_ magic.”

Dean reared back. “No way. Absolutely no way. That’s - I just -”

Tanner shook his head. “It's the truth, Dean.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

With a shrug, Tanner sighed. “I’ve got even less reason to lie to you than I did to John.”

“... Say I believe you,” Dean looked towards heaven, asking for strength. “What does this... _someone_ do for us?”

“Stability.” Tanner grimaced. “A connection. Can’t have a Witch, but you're still a pet. It's like you’ve got a leash on at all times, only you don’t know it's there until someone tugs on it. Insulting, right?”

“Beyond.” Dean scoffed.

“Heh, yeah, don’t I know it.”

“... Who’s your someone?”

Tanner smiled. A true smile this time. “My wife. Linda. She’s got just enough juice that I don’t feel the need to look for a Witch. Based on how you’ve been doing these past few months, I’d say you found your someone as well.”

 _Wait. What?_ Dean cocked his head to the side - “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got a someone, or else you would have been **_compelled_ ** to search.”

Dean found himself looking through his memories. Trying to understand. Then it clicked. Sam. That feeling he got around him. His smell. That tingle he felt when Sam was around, when Sam was the only one in the room. How he felt listening to his commands or polite inquiries versus listening to his own father’s commands.

“Sam.” Dean whispered.

“That’s your brother right?” Tanner asked, a little surprised. “Huh. Well, I bet if John knew that he’d be blowing a gasket.”

Dean felt offense well in his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Cause it means little Sam’s got magic. Don’t know the flavor, but he’s got it.”

Well, hell. Again.

Nope, Dean decided. Just ignore that for now.

“Okay, wait, so I was a dog for like a month.” Dean explained. “It's hard to keep myself human. I can already feel the itchiness coming back. How does the change work?”

“Think of it like a battery.” Tanner explained, grabbing a salt shaker and a pepper shaking. He poured out a heaping into little piles. “Salt is the human in you. Pepper is the dog. You need your someone, Sam in this case, to refill your charge. The longer you're a familiar the less time you should have to spend with your Sam, because you’ll build up a constant charge.”

He moved the salt around so it was mixed with the pepper. Then he poured more salt and mixed it. Wait a few seconds and repeated the gesture. “The pile is your body. The salt is what is added based on what you take from Sam.”

Dean just stared.

“See, the longer you are what you are, the larger charge of both you got. It won’t take nearly as long to recharge. More salt into the pepper. But,” And Tanner made sure to make eye contact this time. “If you are away from Sam, the reverse might start to happen. Or if you lose him, or he dies, you’d slowly revert back to form one.”

“So wait,” Dean grabbed the salt shaker. “You’re saying the older I get, the less I’ll need Sam?”

“Essentially.” Tanner nodded.

“And the longer I am around him constantly, the more I can be human?”

Tanner took a swig. “He gives you what you need to be human. He just doesn’t know it.”

“Yeah, no he doesn’t,” Dean acknowledged, leaning back and staring at the ruined table.

Well shit. He was basically a vampire, except he wasn’t hurting anyone. Except maybe Sam.

“And what does Sam get out of this? I don’t hurt him do I?”

Tanner actually chuckled. “You’re a Familiar, Dean. Witches consider us pets. Hunters consider us _Witches_ pets. We don’t hurt our someone, if anything, we power them **up**.”

“Sam doesn’t use magic.” Dean defended immediately.

“Neither does Linda.” Tanner said simply enough.

“So what... they get a boost they can’t use?”

“Not exactly,” Tanner shook his head. “It's a boost. They can use it. Normal people don’t need it, but for a hunter it’s a blessing. Less rest needed, more mental cognition, a connection with you, the familiar. Sam might not know it, but he’ll be able to understand you better. On a more... base level.”

Dean scoffed. “It’s the Witch and Familiar without the Witch.”

“It is.”

The icing on the cake was what he said after.

Consent was apparently optional, but only with very, very powerful witches. Tanner said he had yet to meet one, but he had been fairly active in the Familiar community (which was surprisingly different from most all Witch communities) and heard horror stories that true-born familiars had passed on from generation to generation.

One particular story sent a shiver down even **Dean’s** Hunter spin.

The familiar was named Archimedes, an owl; the Witch, Merlin himself. It was an old story. The oldest of all the cautionary tales that trueborns told their children at night. Merlin was one of the most powerful Witches ever, and he could have had the run of any familiar, except he only wanted one.

Archimedes, or by her former-human name, Morgana, said no to Merlin. Merlin didn’t take nicely to that. To cut a long story short: push came to shove, Merlin forced Archimedes to bond with him, and they continued onward to be forever stamped in the history books as the very definition of Magical Power.

Except, _plot twist,_ Morgana finally broke the bond between them, which cost them both their **lives**. If she hadn’t, nobody could say for sure, but it was universally accepted that they would still be alive today.

And that was the _biggest_ story, but by no means the only.

* * *

“Well, hey Dean. Where you been?” Sam asked as Dean stepped into the house, closing the door behind him.

He was still reeling. All the information churned around in his head like a twister of crap going sideways. Familiars were an entire species, an entirely new world, and Dean was way over his head.

Unfortunately, Sam was also dragged into this. As his... what? **Someone** as Tanner had so eloquently put it?

“Uh, bar.” Dean answered, shrugging off his jacket. “Watched the game... had things to think about.”

“Huh,” Sam’s said, noncommittally. “Hey come check this out, would’ya?”

It seemed he had forgotten Dean couldn’t stomach beer.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, because it wasn’t like Sam knew his world was falling apart. He just knew they Hunted.

And dammit if they weren’t going to hunt.

“Whatcha got for me?”

“Listen to this,” Sam said, turning the laptop Deans way. “Four dead in six months, all woods back of their houses. Authorities are calling them animals attacks, but just look - “

And off he went. His excitement contagious. But Dean was listening with half an ear. Now that he knew what to look for, now that he had listen to Tanner, he knew that Sam’s smell, how he felt... It was all connected. Dean didn’t know what magic felt like before this.

He didn’t want to know, but now he knew.

It was like summer. It was a breath of fresh air. It was the sun shining on his face after days in the dark. It was peace. And light. It was serenity in a word. It took him over completely and Dean knew he would do anything for Sam. Anything. Not much change in their sibling department, but it was changed enough that Dean knew he had little true choice anymore.

And for a moment Dean let himself believe that Witches weren’t all that bad.

How could they if Sam, his baby brother, could be even a teeny, tiny little bit Witch?

And then he turned back into a dog.

Sam gave him a pitying look but patted his side for him to come over and sit by him. Which Dean did, and he gave no indication that it was weird. Just settled against Sam’s side and listened as he gave him some more information on the case. The way his voice rose and fell, it was hypnotizing. Though Dean didn't nod off, it was a close thing.

* * *

Month two was when things got interesting.

Dean could hold human for hours at a time, but only if he wanted to stay as Dean-dog for a week. If he used it sparingly, a few minutes here and a few minutes there, max thirty - he’d be golden and he could switch between forms pretty easily. You know, except for the fact that he showed up with _no clothes_.

“I’m just saying, Sam,” Dean began as he sat on the bed in the motel of their newest city-hunt, Boonsville Indiana. “I don’t think other Familiars have this problem.”

“And I told _you_ , Dean,” Sam shrugged. “I have no clue how they do it. Maybe it’s a spell?”

Dean scoffed, scrolling on the computer. “Yeah, well can we learn it? I kind of hate showing up in my birthday suit.”

“Believe me, Dean, I hate it _just_ as much,”

Dean though, _kind of doubt it,_ but let Sam believe what he wanted. Sighing he turned back over to the laptop. He wasn’t making much headway and he’d already been human for about twenty minutes. Ugh. This was annoying. Tanner had said he’d be able to hold it longer, later, but he wanted it _now_.

“I’m gonna go scope out the park,” Dean said as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, at least you're keeping yourself human more often,” Sam said as he watched his brother disrobe his top half.

“Yeah, sure, Sammy,” Dean said with a petulant smile as he changed. Stepping out of his pants he just waited by the door for Sam to open it.

The jingle of his fake dog tags following him.

“Be back in a few hours?” Sam questioned as he left. Dean only gave a bark.

So easy.

Outside the world was a different story. There was an order to the chaos. Sights, sounds, smells. It was a whirlwind and the first time Dean had gone by himself outside it was like the entire world was alight. Cars whizzed by, the electricity sizzled in the veins of the city, animals survived next to humans but only _just so_. People talked in hush whispers, but Dean heard it all. Not that he listened to it all, but he could have.

For the first few minutes he just sat outside the door of the motel room and breathed. Let the small town settle into his bones. After he felt like he had enough of a grasp on it, he went off into the darkness towards the park.

* * *

Sitting beside a park bench outside the only bar in the town, Dean listened for anything worthwhile. Which... well worthwhile was a stretch when you couldn't ask any pointed questions. There were two women arguing and bitching about their boyfriends. A bunch of men playing pool and saying crude, horrible things. One man threatened another over a few bucks.

Dean listened to the same old go around for almost an hour before something happened.

“Hey, lookit that dog,” A man said as he was coming out the door, lighting up. “Who’d leave their dog outside while they go into a bar?”

“Ugh, nobody that should have a dog, that’s who,” Another guy said, except this one sounded smaller, weaker. “Hey buddy,” The man tsked with his tongue and that’s when Dean knew he was talking to him. Actually coming closer. “Come ‘er.”

Dean turned to the two men, ears perking up wearily as he watched the two of them.

One guy was bigger, built like a bear while the one that was crouched was taller but skinnier. Built like Tanner. Both wore jeans, flannels, and boots. Good old working men looking out for a dog.

“Hey, Tommy,” The big guys said. “You think he’s actually just sitting there. Waiting for his human?”

Tommy had his hand out, beckoning but he turned to the big guy. “Well Ethan, you really think dogs are that smart?”

Dean wanted to scoff, but honestly this was the most amusing thing to happen all day.

“Hey, come on buddy, I won’t hurt ya,” The man, Tommy, spoke in that soft voice people did with idiots and animals. “Come’er.”

Dean stood his ground. Apparently that was the right thing to do cause Tommy just smiled brighter and walked a little closer. He was barely a finger's breath away. If he just reached a little closer he could pet Dean.

It was a strange feeling, Dean realized. Sitting here while two men talked about him as if he were a dumb animal. It was a freedom that he had never experienced before. Or. Well. He couldn’t remember experiencing it before. Maybe this was what children felt like sometimes? Talked over? Talked down to?

When Tommy’s hand came in contact with his fur, Dean tensed up. A short burst of static electricity traveled up his spin. Immediately afterwards it was like a jolt of electricity, and Dean jumped back. His nose exploded with the smell of roses in bloom. It came through the stench of bar like febreeze.

Tommy’s eyes were huge, blown wide in shock, as Ethan startled next to him.

 _:What the hell was that?_ : Dean demanded of himself as he stood on all four, too shocked to bare his teeth, too on edge to run. Everyone stared at everyone else. Nobody moved.

“A _familiar_.” Tommy breathed, his fingers curling into his hand as it hung limp.

 _Ah._ Dean realized then that the feeling was something he’d only experienced with Tanner. With Sam. With that Witch they’d offed. A connection.

: _Damnit_.:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you like it or not. I really only have a few scenes or so written for season 2... and I am not sure if its enough to continue into another story. It might just have to be blurbs or one-shots.


	6. Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a couple of witches. They are not what he and Sam are used to.

It was a standoff.

Ethan stood behind Tommy protectively and Dean stood in front of the both of them wearily. Any of them could have turned tail and ran, but there was always the aspect of the unknown. They’d caught each other off guard, each of them.

“Hey, we’re not here to hurt you,” Tommy said, taking a step back carefully. He held his hands up in surrender. “You just... surprised me. Us.”

 _:Great. Guessing a Witch and another Witch?:_ Dean thought to himself, keeping an eye on Tommy since he was closest. _:Can you understand me?:_

Tommy reared back. “ _Holy shit._ I just. Yeah, I can understand you.”

“He’s unbonded?” Ethan demanded, taking a step closer.

Dean really snarled at him then, took a step back. Tommy held a hand out to stop Ethan. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know. I assumed you were bonded. I mean, why else would you have a _collar_ and be waiting outside a bar?”

 _:I don’t have a Witch, but I do have a_ **_somebody_ ** _.:_ Dean told him. He felt like he was just thinking to open air, but Tommy understood.

“Okay, not bonded but... got it. So what, family? He collared you?”

“A bitten, not a trueborn.” Ethan murmured.

 _:None of your business.:_ Dean snarled, chin tilting up. To both of them.

“Fair enough.” Tommy said with a smile. “Listen, I didn’t mean to startle you. I honestly thought you were a dog.”

Dean continued to watch him. Watched how he rose, hands held in front of himself as he backed up further towards Ethan.

Okay. That was not the reaction Dean was _ever_ expecting from a Witch. Ever.

_:Not the reaction I was expecting.:_

“Why?” Tommy asked, but the light bulb clicked for Ethan.

“Dude, he’s new to this. Who trusts Witches?” Ethan answered before turning to Dean. “Listen, familiars are really rare, okay? We’d never do anything to offend you. For a variety of reasons, really, but mostly because the community is really small. Like, island small. You piss one familiar off you’re crossed off the list forever.”

 _:That big a deal, huh?:_ Dean asked, but their heartbeats hadn’t skipped any beats, or done anything weird. It seemed they were being honest. _Huh_ . _So familiars were treated nicely? Like... really nice?_

 **“Dean! Hey! Where you at!”** Sam shouted about a mile away. He must have just left the motel room. It was a distraction and Dean cocked his head to the right momentarily to listen. He realized his mistake a second after and immediately turned and snarled to the two standing in front of him.

Except they hadn’t moved. They just continued to stand, cautiously.

“That your... somebody calling for you?” Ethan asked behind Tommy.

Feeling all kinds of trapped, but also all kinds of way too comfortable with these men, Dean nodded once. Just enough that anyone else watching would think it a twitch.

“Uhm, you mind if we come with you?” Dean’s hackles rose and Tommy was quick to try and sooth him. “I think we can answer a lot of questions you might have. I’m guessing you haven’t been a familiar for long... We have no ulterior motive, we swear.”

When someone said that, that usually meant they did. Sam and him had encountered too many people who had said the same thing. Some of them even believed it. But Witches or whatever these guys were, Dean had been taught time and time again to distrust anything magical.

“We’ll even swear on our magic,” Ethan said, hurriedly. “We didn’t mean to startle you. We’re really deeply sorry about that.”

 _:What would swearing on magic do?:_ Dean huffed to himself.

Tommy and Ethan shared a look. “Well, it uh, it ties us to our promises.”

“Dean!” Sam yelled again. He was closer.

“Or we can wait for him? If that would make you more comfortable?” Tommy asked.

Dean realized what a rock and hard place he was stuck between. On one hand, if these guys really did have answers...? If the could answer questions that not even Tanner had had answers to - wasn’t it worth it?

Especially considering the both of them didn’t seem like they wanted to hurt him.

 _:Alright. Fine.:_ Dean said. _:We wait.:_

Tommy relaxed and smiled. “Okay, awesome.”

* * *

Sammy knew the kind of places Dean was liable to hang out at, and so the Bar was second on his list. He rolled around ten minutes late to the party, but at least he showed. Parked the Impala around the corner and came toward the bar.

“Dean, damnit, where the hell -” He muttered under his breath before he turned the corner and saw Dean waiting patiently by the bench where Tommy and Ethan were seated. “Dean! There you are!”

Sam walked forward hastily, before pulling himself up slightly as Dean didn’t move so much as an inch.

Dean couldn’t say much as a dog, but he hoped his baleful look explained enough.

“Uhm, hi?” Tommy said as he rose to stand next to Dean. “I’m Tommy Nelson. I found your dog.”

Narrowing his eyes, observing the guy as he walked forward, Sam stopped in front of him. Dean tried to communicate without words, but Sam didn’t get it.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Sam said doing that little confused head tilt he did when things didn’t add up.

“Yeah, uh, Dean said we could wait for you cause we can answer some questions he has...”

Sam’s face immediately changed. His lips pressed into a frown and his upper half pulled back a step. Dean leaned up to tug on his right arm sleeve. They hadn’t gotten the hang of this wordless communication thing, but Dean thought he was being nice enough that Sam would get it.

Thankfully, he did.

“Witches?” Sam said with a frown down at him. “Really Dean?”

Dean tried to give him a sheepish grin, tongue lolling and all, but Sam just frowned even harder at him. Sighed.

“Get to the car and change wouldya? I need the whole story.”

Long legs carried Dean back the way Sam had come. The Impala was parked just around the corner afterall. Making sure to look both ways, he changed and entered the car quickly. Putting on underwear, a pair of jeans, and a t-shirt was a struggle in the back of the car, but Dean managed in record time. He rolled out of the car primped and ready to go.

“- So you just expect me to believe you didn’t know what he was?” Sam asked when Dean decided to listen in on the conversation as he came around the corner.

“Didn’t know until I touched him.” Tommy confirmed. “And uh, I guess I get why he didn’t just change in front of me. You’re not a Witch, so it stands to reason you don’t know how to do a Collaring.”

Sam didn’t splutter, but his double-take made his hair flow. “... Uh, what?”

“It’s a spell for Witches and Familiars, and I don’t have a familiar so I don’t know it all that well. I can ask some people. If you want?”

“What did you say it did?” Sam demanded, crossing his arms and looking uncomfortable.

Dean took his time walking back, swaggering, so they wouldn’t immediately know it was him.

“Yeah, it uhm, connects whatever the familiar is wearing to the collar,” Tommy explained. “So that when the familiar changes the clothes go with. It’s uh, it’s familiar one-oh-one.”

“Mind if I join the party?” Dean asked as he butted his way up next to Sam.

“Whoa,” Ethan said with a chuckle. “Didn’t expect you out of **that** dog.”

Dean took his hands out of his jacket and shrugged with an arrogant kind of smirk. “I’m a surprise, what can I say,”

Licking his lips he added, “Now what’s this about me not having to lose my clothes every time I change?”

“Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else?” Tommy suggested as a few of the drunken crew left, looking at them all with confused drunk faces.

“You guys got a place?”

Sam and Dean shared a look. A question in Sam’s gaze an answering confusion, with a shrug, from Dean.

It was one part ‘what have we got to lose?’ and another part ‘already screwed the pooch, come on’.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean clapped him on the back, “You boys coming?”

* * *

Ethan Bixby and Tommy Nelson. The Witches were small time. Barely natural users. There was a network of barely functional Witches who just went about their lives and used their ‘magic’ for simple things. Stomach aches, headaches, small scratches. Mostly medical. Protection as well. Which, smart, finally. The worst some of them had done was use a spell to cheat on their math homework, but it could hardly be called cheating - it just turned up their smarts. Some used slide of hand for fun or pranks.

Honestly, it wasn't anything the boys themselves had never done. Magicless.

And Dean had never smelled two adult men like these two before. Now that he knew what Magic smelled like, it was easy to identify it. But... Well, this was different. It was different than the other Witch. They smelled... different.

Dean was used to human smells. Sweat, blood, hair, dirt, and differing occupational hazards or city smells. Flowers that stuck to jackets, mud, regular old smells. With Witches it was the same except when Dean was close enough he could smell _power_. It crackled like electricity, stung his nose, and generally made him feel... light.

With these two, together, it barely smelled like one Witch, let alone two.

“They’re harmless, Sam,” Dean said as they entered the motel, trailed by Ethan and Tommy. “They barely smell like a threat... _together_.”

“Hey!” Tommy and Ethan both protested with a frown.

Dean gave him a ‘sorry’ look, opened his arms wide, and turned to Sam. “Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Wait,” Ethan said, as Tommy closed the door behind them all. “You guys obviously know a lot about Witches and familiars. But you’re not either. Well, except Dean, but that’s only because he was bit, so... Why?”

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean threw himself on the bed, lounged and smiled at him innocently.

“It’s a long story and - Wait, Dean how long do you think you can swing it?”

“I can do forty minutes, tops.” Dean confirmed. Which meant they had about thirty minutes.

“You have a time limit?” Tommy asked, confused, before understanding dawned. His eyes bouncing from Sam to Dean. “Ahh. Yeah, that’d do it. Same deal with us both, actually, if we ever had a familiar anyway.”

Sam did his confused puppy look. “What?”

“They don’t have much magic, Sam, that’s what they’re trying to say,” Dean leaned back on the soft comforter, reveling in the way the fabric felt against his face. Sensitivity of tactile sensations were lost on dog-Dean.

Sam frowned. “I don’t have magic.”

Ethan and Tommy both about answered but Dean beat them to it.

“They mean actual magic, ya idiot.” And he glared at the two witches. Both of them looking confused, giving each other questioning glances.

Sam frowned and harrumphed. “I guess that works.”

“Uhm, so what’s all this?”

Ethan was looking at the map they had taped up, the police reports, the images. The dead bodies.

“Tell us you're not serial killers at least,” Tommy said, keeping a distance from Sam. Yet, how he said it, made Dean think they’d met serial killers.

“We’re not serial killers,” Dean promised. “Just a boy and his dog roaming the country trying to solve murder cases.”

Sam scoffed.

Dean continued. “If that includes a little murder of monsters, well, then it includes a little murder.”

Ethan got it before Tommy. He took a step back towards his friend. “You’re hunters.”

“Got it in one, bucko,” Dean said, clicking his tongue and winking.

Tommy looked unsettled, Ethan the same, but with a ting of thoughtfulness.

“So you got bit by a familiar...” Ethan said, “That’s gotta be a bitch for a Hunter, huh?”

Sitting up slightly, Dean smiled beafully. “Touch and go for a while there. Getting bit is usually a sign that we bite the bullet afterwards. When I just turned into a dog, well...”

“You didn’t kill yourself,” Ethan nodded. “I see.”

“Why are you telling them all this, Dean?” Sam asked, leaning against the door.

“They asked.” Dean said simply enough. Plus he could tell if they lied. Their heartbeats would betray them. They knew that.  “It’s not trust or anything. We’re going to be done in this town soon enough. Plus, Sam,” He gave his best shit eating grin, “Asking real witches questions about my little problem will solve a lot of headaches.”

Sam puffed a sigh, looking heavenward. “Alright, you’re right. I agree.”

“You know you guys are pretty nice for Hunters,” Ethan said. “Or well. From the Hunters I’ve seen some through. You haven’t shot us yet,”

“The night is still young,” Sam said.

Tommy and Ethan shared a shaky look.

“Okay, then we won’t stay longer than we’re needed, I guess. What do you want to know?”

“Well, first, how about the Collaring spell?” Dean asked.

“Easy,” Ethan smiled, pulling out his phone and sending a text. “There. Kyle is powerful enough that he’s been actively looking for a Familiar. He’s damn near got the spell memorized.”

“Huh,” Sam said, looking less than believing. “So what, do Witches have a network?”

Ethan raised a brow as if Sam was slow.

“Well, duh. There are forums online that are usually invite only. Meet and greets, if you know the right people to talk to.” Tommy answered, he seemed to be a little uneasy but settled himself on the bed next to Dean. “And uh, sorry if we don’t tell you how. Dean may be a familiar but you’re both still Hunters...”

Sam made a face that was a mix between ‘no big deal’ and ‘its fine’. “We understand. We only go after people if there has been a confirmed kill, if it makes you feel better.”

Ethan and Tommy both relaxed at that. “Oh. Well, that's good to know. We’ve heard horror stories of Hunters going after Witches just cause thats what they **do**. No mercy nothing.”

Dean and Sam shared a look. They knew those kinds of people. Hell, if John had gotten his way, they would be that way. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, they’d been raised with a modicum of decency and mercy.

“Yeah, we hear you.” Sam said.

“Its nice to meet some hunters that ask questions first before shooting, ya know?”

Oh boy did Dean.

“So you said it’s been about four months, right, Dean?” Tommy asked, taking point. “What do you know?”

Dean explained, keeping what Tanner had told him to himself, and sharing the physical effects. And he shared his questions.

“Bonding has to be consensual, I know that, but... how does that even work?”

“Well, bonding is really not so hard to explain,” Tommy said, excited now as he leaned forward. As if discussing his favorite subject. “It’s a coming together of mind, soul, and magic. There is a connection between Witch and Familiar that allows a Witch to accomplish tasks they would never be able to do before. And, sure, a lot of Witches bond because of that, but they also do it for companionship.”

Ethan nodded. “Being a Witch can be pretty lonely. What better way to solve that then having a best friend forever?”

“Best friend forever?” Dean asked dryly. “That seems a little... ooey-gooey. I thought familiars were pets.”

“It is. They are,” Tommy nodded, defended stongly. “But it’s not like _that_ . Not like how you’re thinking it. I mean, it’s kind of something that’s been perpetuated in media that familiars are animal first, human second, if at all. But familiars are the important and precious to a Witch. To be loved, uhm, protected, and above all _bond with_.”

Dean did scoff then. That was way too gooey. He almost gagged.

Tommy noticed. “It’s kind of romanticized isn’t it?”

“A bit.” Sam confirmed, giving a great bitch face.

“It’s hard to explain, not having a bond of our own.” Ethan said. “But that's kind of how the Witch community views things. Familiars are rare, so they aren’t just thrown away like a newspaper. They aren’t just tools... Does that help?”

Dean was kind of shocked to realize it had. So he nodded.

Ethan’s phone vibrated. Kyle had come through. They shared information, phone numbers and everything. Dean felt the itch crawl over his spin and Sam caught his eye.

“That’s it for the night, Dean?”

And before he could speak, he was back to being a Dog.

_Ugh. Talk about annoying._

* * *

“Well. That was... enlightening.” Sam said as Ethan and Tommy left their motel room and shut the door.

 _You can say that again,_ Dean thought to himself, barked for Sam’s benefits.

“We can do the Collaring spell tomorrow, if you want, that should be useful.” Sam said thoughtfully as he read over the text. “Hopefully in a few more months we shouldn’t have to worry about the length of your stints as a dog... if they were being truthful. You think they were?”

Dean answered yes. He’d already known about it, after all. It was just confirmation.

“But that thing they said, about only knowing you when they touched you... that’s useful, right?”

Dean cocked his head and thought about it. Probably. He decided.

“I just mean, Dean, that weak Witches should leave us alone. We just need to worry about the older ones. The stronger ones.” He said it like it was a good thing, but as his voice trailed off he slumped. “Shit. You think we can find any Witch repelling spells? Or symbols?”

It was hard to shrug as a dog, but Dean managed it.

“I bet you didn’t even find anything during your time snooping, did you?” Sam needled.

Dean huffed and shook his head. The bar had been a bust. The park even more so. He hadn’t smelled any monsters, though he was still fuzzy on what those would smell like, or Witches. Except Ethan and Tommy, but that seemed to be more of a find than a bust.

“Can’t win ‘em all, Dean,” Sam said as he came over to sit next to Dean, he scooped up all of Dean’s clothes as he went. “Though it would be nice to get a handle on this.”

 _We have the spell,_ Dean thought to himself. _How much more of a handle do you need?_

He also understood though. This whole situation was one big lump of suck.


	7. Just the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End of Season 1. Just. Stuff happens.

They decided to wait to do the Collaring spell until they’d run it through Bobby. Which coincided nicely with the end of the hunt. A hunt that was almost as dumb as the stupid Ghostfacers tulpa. A ghost that wasn’t really a ghost. It was a **human** , but one that barely was able to keep his story straight.

Sam and Dean left him to the police hogtied by the evidence.

Then Bobby got back to them and said it looked alright, the spell that is, but blood was a little much - wasn’t it?

Dean and Sam both agreed to ignore that.

The Collaring spell was simple. Hair of the familiar and hair of the ‘Witch’, or in this case Sam, that controlled the familiar, a leaf from a tall oak tree, a handful of dirt, a cup of water. Blood from both Sam and Dean could be used in place of hair for... _better_ spellcasting. It was said to strengthen the spell, and since neither Sam or Dean were squeamish, they knew power was a boost any way you spun it. The final step was to light it all on fire and hold the collar over the smoke.

After that, a few words of latin and boom: Clothes on Dean at all times.

The only downside? Dean had to **wear** the collar at all times, in every form. It was as symbol of a bond, after all, even if there was no actual bond to speak of. Also he didn’t necessarily have to have the collar on all the time, just if he wished to have clothes. Which, thank God for that.

_... What did it say that the spell went off without a hitch?_

_What did it say about Dean?_

_What did it say about_ **_Sam_ ** _?_

* * *

 

The clicking of the collar around Dean’s throat was like the final key of a song, held for a long, long moment. Final in a way that Dean had been kind of dreading thinking about. Did this make it all that more real? Or was it all the more real because it was happening?

“Well.” Sam said, hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Try it out?”

Dean took a deep breath and changed. As dog-Dean he sat and looked up at Sam to get his bearings. There was no pool of clothes around him.

“So far so good,”

Sam gave him a small pat, the second his hand touched his head like it had millions of times before - everything within Dean froze up. It was like meeting with Tommy again. That first touch. That touch of Witch and Familiar. Hopefully not as _his_ Witch and familiar.

His stomach dropped deep into his four paws.

: _Shit,_ : Dean thought to himself, reeling as he tried to shake off the electricity in his veins. : _What the hell?_ :

Sam jumped back and slammed into the wall.

“Dean?!”

_:... Sammy?:_

“What the hell... Dean?”

 _:Wait. Sam. You can_ **_hear_ ** _me?:_

 _“Yes,_ I can hear you!” Sam took a shaky step forward. “How - how did that happen?”

 _:Considering the only people I’ve talked to like this is Meg, a demon; Tommy, a Witch; and now you, a human?:_ Dean said dryly. _:I’m gonna have to say I have no f_ **_ucking idea how it chooses_ ** _who I can communicate with. Maybe it’s the spell? Maybe I’m finally letting you in? Who the hell knows?:_

“... Fair enough.” Sam acknowledged with a twist of his head. “Uhm, turn back now?”

Dean did so. To both of their palpable relief, Dean was clothed when he came to. The same clothes he had been in before. With a chuckle, Dean felt over his chest, up his jacket. It felt nice to not be nude. He’d gotten too used to it all. Which, yes, had been terrifying, but now it wasn't so much as simple acknowledgment. 

“One problem solved, another five pop up.” Dean huffed, sitting on the bed. His shoulders slumped. “One of these days, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just nodded and looked thoughtful. When he did speak, it was to say, “You think it has anything to do with the visions thing?”

Dean leaned back, relishing in his humanity. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Honestly I think there are too many things to pin point it to one singular thing,” Staring at the ceiling, Dean added, hoping to distract his brother. “You want to try and see how far this whole mental communication thing goes?”

“Hell, what else do we have to do?” Sam sighed.

But Dean was already a dog. Sitting cutely on the comforter of the motel bed, head cocked at just the right angle to seem inquisitive and curious, Dean reached out with his mind.

_:We’re about five feet away.:_

“Want me to leave the room or you?” Sam asked, already getting up from the chair at the table.

 _:You go ahead, Sammy,:_ Dean rolled onto his back and let his tongue hang free. _:I’ve been doing the heavy lifting this past week.:_

Sam cracked a smile, “Bitch.”

Dean’s tail wagged happily as he replied, : _Jerk.:_

* * *

They had a range of half a mile and weeks to perfect using that to the full advantage of the ‘bond’. The _not_ bond.

They chased the occasional salt & burn, a rogue vampire here, a werewolf trail there. Dean’s nose was getting better at sniffing them out. He was a regular old bloodhound. Almost _literally_ . Vampires smelled ‘too’ bloody while werewolves smelled like putrid flesh. ‘Heart breath’ is what he called them in the silence of his mind. Vampires were just ‘bloodie bags’. Ghosts smelled like antifreeze and a sneeze was his first clue that something was around. Demons smelled of sulphur. He’d yet to meet a Wendigo in his current state but he was **not** looking forward to it.

For a time, there was even peace.

Peace for Dean. Peace for Sam.

But as always, peace was fleeting and brief. Sam still had his nightmares of Jessica’s death. Dean his new instincts, his new life, his new weaknesses to balance. Both were unease and they used work to try and fix themselves. Which was stupid, in hindsight, but it was all they had. Since Sam had left school finding what had killed Jessica had been his priority. Dean being a dog now had severely hindered that, but not considerably.

If Sam was honest, he was glad. What was a few months if Dean could now be instrumental in finding who killed Jessica and their mom? What was a few months off track, learning how to live with his new dog-brother, compared to **never** getting revenge? Dean was amazing. His nose alone had cut their hunting time down _days_. And Sam had always wanted a dog, it just seemed God had a sense of humor about it all.

Sam never voiced these thoughts, but he assumed Dean had picked up on at least a few of them.

Dean on the other hand had his own problems. He’d settled into his life as well as could be expected. He sniffed, he trailed. He barked. He fought with Sam and the best of them. He talked with Sam through their mental connection as if they were human. And those were the good points.

He was a dog far more often than he ever wanted to be. Enough so that he felt comfortable sleeping in the same bed with Sam, interacting with other dogs (yeah, that was one hell of a weird moment or two), and generally being a dog. Dean knew that he could sustain a human form for hours a day for months without having to change back, but there was something changing within Dean.

He - dare he _think it_ , dare he _say it_ \- liked being a dog.

It was a simple existence. People didn’t bother him. He didn’t have to act all big and bad. He was a quarter of the height of most people, and it was clear he was only as strong as his fangs and his brain. It made him think more. He still rushed in headfirst, but it was... simplier.

He didn’t fight it. He didn’t fight the pull to be more animal than human. Didn’t fight that strange raw instinct that said Witches preferred animal-familiar to human-familiar forms. Didn’t fight it because he’d gotten used to it. Gotten used to it because it had been a slow slope downward to doggie-Dean. So slow that Dean hadn’t even realized he wanted raw steak, and bellyrubs, and to sleep curled up against Sam far more than he would ever have wanted it before. More as in for the first time.

It was during the end of their transition to this new duo that they were that their father finally contacted them.

And their destinies were set back on course.

* * *

The last time they’d seen their Dad, before Sam had called for Dean, was over that Vampire Hunter’s death. Over the Colt, which their father had said was The Colt. Some mythical gun able to kill any and all beasts. Only they'd lost it; the vampires had gotten away.

And John had been hunting for it ever since.

Which is why Sam and Dean both were shocked that Dean’s phone rang, **John** flashing across the screen.

“Dad?” Sam answered it, on account he held on to both phones since nobody knew knew where the hell Dean’s clothes went once he went dog. Did a phone ring in doggie-space? If so, where did it go? They didn’t know and didn’t **_dare_ ** question.

 _“I have the colt.”_ Came from the speaker.

Sam was surprised he actually called them back. Dean even more so. A promise from their father was like a forecast of rain at fifty percent.

“Where are you?” Sam scrabbled for a pen. “We’ll come to you, Dad, you just gotta tell us where you are.”

_“I didn’t want to get you boys involved... Wanted to finish this myself.”_

“Hey, Dad,” Dean changed and shouted. “Tell us where you are. We’ll come to you.”

_“... They’re happening again. House fires all over the country. Babies six months old. Omens like before. Damnit. Just like before.”_

“Dad, you’re not making any sense...” Dean said, and Sam frowned severely. “Dad, tell us where you are.”

There was a long moment of silence, but then he gave an address. Iowa.

_“This ends. It’s gotta.”_

And then the line clicked, Sam and Dean staring at the phone. Then at each other.

This was big. Omens? Babies six months old... Sam didn’t know that, but he’d been exactly six months old on the dot. Was... Did the Demon have a pattern?

“Let’s go.” Sam said.

Dean watched as he stiffened up. Watched as Sam put away brother Sam and brought out Hunter Sam. He packed up stuff easily, a certain rhythm to him as he got in the zone. Stiff upper lip, focused. In the zone. So Sam, but also so... **not**.

It hurt something in Dean to see Sam change like that.

It was a new hurt. Old, maybe too. But really old that it was _new_.

Was this how it felt when Dean had watched Sam come on his first hunt? This... sadness? This... hopelessness? This... feeling?

“Dean, come on, pack up.” Sam commanded as he grabbed bags and went to the car.

With a sigh, Dean did so. When they left though, he was a dog and Sam was driving. Sam was stoked for the fight and Dean was curled up in the passenger side, wondering where this sudden not-quite hate not-quite like of fighting had come from. Sam was the one with the bloodlust. Dean was the passenger.

How the tables had turned.

* * *

They found John holed up in a little motel that was covered foot to head in his research. Maps, pictures, weather maps, articles, news, obituaries. Dean’s heart sunk as he realized that this was it. This was the culmination of his father’s years of research. What was his?

John greeted them and then set into explaining everything.

 _Everything_.

Years Dean had been with Dad, and this was when he spills his guts? At the end? At the finish line?

Dean sat back and let Sam and John go. John did most of the talking, but Sam wasn’t silent. Dean was a dog.

“So I was... Six months old exactly, exactly?” Sam asked, scoffing as he shook his head. “So it **is** all my fault.”

_:Not your fault, Sam.:_

“Okay, right Dean, maybe not **my** fault, but it’s _my_ problem.”

Dean got to his feet. He was done with his brother’s pissy attitude. _:It’s_ **_our_ ** _problem, Sam.:_

It wasn’t until after that Dean realized John hadn’t been told of this newest development.

“How long has this been going on?” John demanded as he looked between Sam and Dean.

“What?” Sam asked, pulling back from Dean.

“You understand him.” John jerked his chin to Dean. “When he’s a dog... When did that start?”

 _:I think nows a good time to be human,:_ Dean said, transforming as he went. He was sitting on the end of the bed. “Since the Collaring spell.”

“Collaring? _Spell_?” John asked, staring at the black and blue collar around Dean's throat. Even as Dean answered.

“We met a few witches.” Dean could see the disapproval on John’s face. “They hooked us up with this Collaring spell mojo. It keeps my clothes on me, and, added bonus, allows Sam to hear when I speak to him.”

“You boys trusted a bunch of _Witches_?”

“They were _barely_ Witches.” Sam defended.

“He’s right, Dad,” Dean said with a shrug.

“Being right is not the issue,” John said, staring at them like they were strangers. “What the hell have I taught you? **Never** trust Witches, or Demons, or Werewolves.”

There was a tick in Sam’s jaw, but Dean backed off before he could say anything. “Yes, sir.”

“ **Never** , you hear me, Sam?” John turned to him.

He looked unconvinced, one look at Dean and his slight shake of his head though, and he nodded. “Understood, sir.”

But Dean knew that he was one wrong word away from exploding again.

* * *

And then, the vision.

Sam hadn’t had a vision in a while that Dean had almost forgotten that that was a thing. You know, with everything going on, his own problems, and how everything had kind of slowed down to a trickle before John calling them - Dean had just pushed it to the back of his mind. Then Sam had to go and have a _Vision_.

Woman dragged to ceiling. A child. Burning. All the beginnings of Sam the musical. Except the music was screaming.

Then Sam met the woman.

And now they were **here**.

“And you think this... vision... is going to happen to this woman you met because...” John asked, staring at the wall and not them.

“Because these things always happen the way I see them.” Sam said, cradling his head, pushing against his eyes. Nothing helped the headache. Taking pity on him, Dean continued for him.

“They start out as nightmares. Then it started happening when he was awake. The headaches last for a while, too.”

Sam just continued rubbing his eyes, his forehead, trying to get any relief. He’d already taken like four advil. He winced as Dean went for coffee behind him. It had been a while since he’d drank any, since he usually stayed as a dog for long periods of time.

“Yeah. It's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon the stronger the visions get.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?” John demanded of them, aggravated.

Both Sam and Dean paused. Dean settled his cup down on the counter carefully and deliberately.

John had the _audacity_ to ask that of him. Dean didn’t turn around when he responded. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. And when had **that** really shifted? When had this loyalty, this absolute loyalty he knew was inside him for John, switch to this?

And what _was_ this?

“We didn’t know what it meant.” He said, instead of purging all this chick flick crap in his stomach.

“Something like this starts happening to your brother,” John shook his head. “You pick up the phone and you call me.”

Dean had been doing so good. He was holding back all the words he didn’t want to say, but that. That was the icing on the cake. Leaning against the counter he decided, fuck it. It wasn’t often he had a mouth to actually **run**. And he didn’t have long left.

“Call you?” He chuckled humorlessly as he turned on John. “Call you. Are you kidding me? Dad I called you from Lawrence? Sam called you when I was **dying**. When I was bit,”

John shifted uncomfortably, sat up straighter on the bed.

“I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.”

“You're right.” John said, nodding. He looked apologetic. “Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.”

“Dean. Dad. Cut it out,” Sam snarled getting in between the two of them, breaking their line of sight.  “Visions or no visions, fact is we know a demon is coming tonight. And that family is going to go through the sam hell we went through.”

“No they’re not.” John said, getting up. “No one is, ever again.”

And then the phone rang, and Sam answered it. A few moments of back and forth conversation and then he tensed up.

“Meg.”

And that's when the night went from bad to worse.

* * *

Meg was behind all of John's friends, acquaintances, and the like’s deaths. She wanted the gun. Wasn’t taking no for an answer. John, the good man he was, wasn’t going to just allow more and more people to die. Not for a one-off-chance, that is, that he could destroy his demon forever.

And then he decided that he was going to try and pawn off a different colt to Meg, to stop the killings. Leave the real colt with Sam and Dean so they could help the family while he went off to try and save everyone else.

It all happened so fast, Dean had barely been able to really follow it. Sam and he were left alone as John went off to do what he felt he needed to do. Find a colt that could be a close replica. Meet with Meg and try and kill her, or at least exorcise her.

And leave his children alone once again.

 _:Translate for me, please?:_ Dean asked of Sam as he sat next to them both.

“Uh, why don’t you just change?”

_:I’m reaching my quota of the day.:_

“Just change, Dean.”

Sam didn’t get it, but Dean respected that. Nobody would understand this whole changing business except another familiar. And those were few and far inbetween.

“Dad, can you promise me something?” Dean asked as he changed and stood in front of John.

“What’s that?”

“This goes south... just get the hell out.” John blinked at him. “Don’t get yourself killed over this. You’re no good to us dead.”

Their father cracked a smile, it touched his eyes. “Same goes for you two.”

It was a moment that was mushy, squishy, and full of that four letter word: love. Loyalty, too. A lot of positive emotions soaked in suspense and dread. Because this could be it. This could be the last time. This could be the last moment of their lives that was them all fighting against the world.

“Now, gameplan...”

* * *

_:He’s going off to get himself killed.:_ Dean said as they watched him pull away from the parking lot they’d met in to exchange goods. One colt for the other.

“I know.” Sam said, “I know Dean.”

_:... Let’s go, Sam. We don’t have all night. Rosie doesn’t have all night.:_

“You can say that again,” Sam said and off they went. The Impala starting and they were driving off. It only took them ten minutes to arrive at the house of the family being targeted.

What was left after that was waiting.

_:You think they’re scared of dogs?:_

Sam scoffed. “They’d sooner believe gas leak then rabid dog.”

_:Well, we’ve never tried the rabid dog angle. How many times has the gas leak story worked out?:_

“Alright, granted, but come on, Dean.”

_:... We could tell them the truth.:_

Sam turned bodily towards him. “I’m sorry, but did I just hear you, Dean Winchester, king of lying through your teeth for no other reason than because you can - just advocate for the truth?”

Dean snorted. It was funny, wasn’t it? Yet, Dean was all instinct in doggie form. He knew, just a gut feeling, if someone was telling the truth or now. If they were a good person. If they wanted to fight or hide or love.

_:Ha ha, you’re so funny.:_

“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’re going straight as an arrow,” Sam crooned. “Peace, love, and the american way.”

_:Alright yeah, that’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?:_

“No stupider than a gas leak, I guess,” Sam turned back to look at the house.

“... I wonder how Dad’s doing.”

_:I’d feel a lot better if he were there, backing us up.:_

Sam nodded, “Yeah. Me too.”

They sit in the Impala watching for another good twenty, thirty minutes. It’s Sam that breaks the silence. It’s always Sam these days, and maybe that’s because Dean sometimes forgets when he’s a dog and when hes Dean. He forgets when he has a mouth and when he doesn’t.

“This is so weird.”

Dean doesn’t see the weirdness, but he looks, eagerly leaning forward.

_:What?:_

“It’s just... after all of these years...” Sam can’t take his eyes off the house. “We’re finally here. It doesn’t seem real.”

Dean shrugged. : _Well. We are. And we’re all getting out of this alive, you hear? We just gotta keep our heads, do our job, and finish this son of a bitch.:_

“This isn’t one of our usual hunts, Dean.”

Dean frowned thoughtfully, nodding his head. : _True.”_

Then again, all their hunts were unique, weren’t they?

“Uh, Dean, I uh, I wanna thank you.”

 _:For what?_ : Dean pulled back and stared.

“Well, everything.” Sam had that earnest puppy-dog look again. Always so quick to thank Dean. “You’ve always had my back. Even when I couldn’t count on anyone, I could always count on you. I just wanted you to know that...”

Dean jolted. _:Whoa, whoa, whoa, are you kidding me, Sammy?:_

It was Sam’s turn to look surprised. “What?”

 _:Stop with that, would you? How long have you been working on that speech?:_ Dean demanded. _:Don’t say just in case something happens to you, got it? Nobody’s dying tonight. Not us, not dad, nobody but that son-of-a-bitch demon, got it? You understand me?:_

Sam smiled at him, shaking his head, “Yeah, I got you Dean. No goodbyes.”

 _:That’s right,_ : Dean nodded his doggie head severely. : _No goodbyes. Not tonight.:_

* * *

What had happened afterwards had been... well, Dean could summarize it simply as this: _Shit storm_.  

It was hard to pull up the memories of what had happened in the last few hours. Everything was so... hazy.

They saved the family, Sam had gotten really close to killing the Yellow Eyed Demon, but their father had ended up nabbed by the demon, Meg. Then the rescue attempt. Then the use of a bullet to try and kill the Yellow Eyed Demon in their father’s meat suit. The failure to do it.

Now they were driving to the hospital, Dean bleeding out. Maybe that was why everything was so hazy. Why things were fuzzy. There was blood everywhere in the back seats.

Sam was screaming nonsense up front. John even louder.

Dean was fading. He knew he was fading, he just wasn’t sure how long it was going to last. He was going to last.

After everything, their car crashing had just been the cherry to top it all off.

* * *

Sitting in the hospital bed, Dean remembered nothing except the end of the night. Well, what would be a few nights ago. He remembers nothing of a Reaper, or a grim, or anything coming for his soul. He remembered being dragged to the car and then he remembered waking up. He doesn’t think of logistics, of being a human for three days and never once turning into a dog, no he dwells on **that** least of all.

Dean is lying in that hospital bed when John comes over to him. To say his goodbyes. Dean doesn’t know it’s goodbye yet, no, that’s saved for after. He just knows that John has convinced Sam to stop fighting with him and to go get a cup of joe, whatever he’d been doing last night had sucked his energy dry.

“What is it?” He asks his father, because he's got this dread building up in his bones. Like somethings coming to a head.

John smiled at him sadly. Proudly. Softly. There were too many emotions in that one smile for Dean to pick apart. But he tried. He tried his damndest because he knew his father better than anyone.

And his father smiled far too little.

“You know,” John began, walking forward and swinging a chair with him. “When you were a kid, I’d come home from a hunt, and after what I’d seen... I’d be... I’d be just _wrecked_. But you, you’d come up to me - “ He mimed Dean's hand on his shoulder. “You’d come over and put your hand on my shoulder and you’d look me in the eye and you’d say: ‘It’s going to be okay, Dad.’”

John looked into the distance, sad. Dean could hear how he breathed deep then, his heart a racing. He’s still got a light smile on his face, as if seeing angels. Dean wants to whine, pitifully, because somehow, he’s picking up what John is putting down. Perhaps not consciously, but he can feel it. Feel it in his bones.

His father is saying goodbye.

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

And then John is crying. Tears are at the corner of his eyes and they are dropping steadily.

“You shouldn’t have been the one to say that. It should have been me sayin’ that to you,” He reached forward then, grabbed Dean’s hand. “I made you grow up too fast. You took care of us all. Sammy, me. You did it and you didn’t complain. Not once. And the time when you needed me the most... when you were bit, I wasn’t there.”

“Please. _Dad_ , that wasn’t your fault,” And Dean tries his level best to sit up. John just pushes him back down.

“No. I got to say this Dean, I have to. I need you to know. I am so proud of you Dean.”

“Why are you saying this?” Dean tried to joke, refusing plainly to take his hand out of John’s hand. “This really you talking?”

Damn, there were tears in his eyes, too, now.

“I want you to watch out for Sammy, you hear?” John demanded, commanded.

It was the first time that Dean could remember, after being bit, that he nodded without question, without a second pause. It wasn’t Sammy commanding, it was John, but he took it to heart. Took it into the very edge of his soul and held it there. Stitched it in. This was an order and a lifetime commitment.

Dean would do what he had to do.

“Dad,” He whispered, throat clogged with tears. “You’re scaring me.”

John barked a small laugh, leaned forward and cupped Dean’s cheek, leaned their foreheads together. “Don’t be scared, Dean.”

And then he was right next to his ear and whispering. And with every whispered word, he broke Dean a little more.

“You have to protect Sammy. Cause, if you don’t, then you have to take him out. It has to be you... You hear me?”

Dean heard his own heart break, because he nodded, but he knew he could never do as his father asked. He could never kill Sam. No matter what.

So the alternative was protect. But...

_What if what he protected was what Dad thought needed to die?_

John didn’t wait for his response, he turned and left. Dean was bedridden and weak and couldn’t get up, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t. So he paid attention, he followed his father’s heart beat. Heard him enter his room. Heard him whisper, “Okay,” And then heard him fall to the ground.

Closing his eyes, Dean held onto the railing of his bed with tight hands.

By the time Sammy had come back, John was dead.

* * *

Dean stands next to the burning pyre. Sam by his side. Both of them speak not a word to each other. There are no words for the hole that has bloomed in their chests. There is nothing to say about the circumstances that doesn’t speak of the pain they are in.

John Winchester is dead. They are his legacy.

What a legacy, huh?

A son who was a familiar.

A son who needed protecting, who’d been dragged kicking and screaming from a bright almost blinding future, and who - that same father - could go just as crazy as Dean would to protect...

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better that their father was dead so he wouldn't witness what was to come. John wouldn’t live to see his son's true failure.

Those last words of his bounced around in Dean’s skull.

 **_You have to protect Sammy. Cause, if you don’t, then you have to take him out_ ** **.** **_It has to be you._ **

_What kind of father demands that of a son?_ Dean changed into his doggie-form as he stared into the flames, because as a dog he couldn’t cry.

What kind of father reiterates what Sam and Dean already knew - that if anything were to go wrong, if either of them were to go dark, or monster, that it had to be family to take care of them.

It just had to. It was responsibility on its basest, rawest form.

But why was it his final words?

“Did Dad say anything to you?” Sam asked, angry tears in his eyes. Anger in his soul. Dean could feel it around him like a blanket. Could feel the anger unlike any he’d felt since their father circle around his brother.

And Dean decided to lie.

 _:No._ :

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Thanks for being here! :) Thank you for reading, please review and kudo and all that fun stuff! Season 2 isn't really written at all. Might take me a few months to even start writing it, but like. I have some key scenes written just now feeling it right now.  
> Edit: SORRY FOR SOME SENTENCES BEING CHOPPED OFF AT THE END. Some formatting went wonky on me. And I think it is all throughout the story as well...


	8. Sequel Posted!

So I probably should have posted this yesterday but -

SEQUEL IS HERE! :D

[Auribus Teneo Lupum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14001867/chapters/32243250)

> _"Dean's a familiar, sure, but he's no danger to anyone. It's a 50/50 chance if he bites someone that they'll turn, like he did, but he's got no intent to do so. His fangs are carefully pulled._ _Sam on the other hand? Well... visions are one thing, everything that is happening is something else entirely._ _It all starts with a voicemail on John's phone."_
> 
> _[Complete re-write of season 2 with Familiar!Dean]_


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